The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen
by KSlycke
Summary: For MamaBirdCat A story of Low Light and the OC Trick Shot. What happens when Low Light and Dixon are caught in the middle of a power struggle between Hawk, PJ Knight and the Jugglers
1. Chapter 1

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in ten chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter One

Sundown and Sorrow

0400

Beachhead was on time. He knew he would be. He didn't know how he did it. He went to bed early. In the summer time he would be asleep before sun set. That was when he woke up. Beachhead didn't have trouble going or staying asleep. He slept peacefully without nightmares. He could set a watch to the drill instructor. Unfortunately the rest of the greenshirts he bunked with didn't. They shifted and coughed in the barracks. They were too worn out to notice the dark. That was the life of a greenshirt. He was a greenshirt. He watched the time tick and waited. He thought he slept from 9 PM to 11 PM. He was awake until 1 AM or 2 AM. Then he must have dozed off. He woke up at three forty five. He had maybe three to four hours of sleep. He didn't remember if he dreamed.

He heard Brooks and Popelka snoring. They still had their nose packed with gauze. Their mouths were open. He looked over to his right. Trick Shot's bed was still made. He didn't hear him come in. His mother left last night. That was all he knew. He remembered Trick Shot getting drunk in the desert. He had a moment of concern. He was concerned about his concern. Beachhead was absolutely right. His apprentice looked up to him. It was a big responsibility. He reminded himself that he didn't want it. He didn't sign up for it. He had it thrown at him. Trick Shot could make his own choices. He was nobody's father figure.

He was awake and ready when Beachhead came through the door. This time he had a whistle. Low Light prepared for it. The sound of a whistle in a close concrete barracks could make a ghost go pale. Low Light was fifty percent deaf in his left ear. It was from one too many shots. Doc said the damage was irreversible. Some stayed purposefully to his right side. Some didn't. Those that didn't were more times than not ignored. It made Low Light look even more anti-social than he already was. The truth was he didn't hear them. When Beachhead blew the whistle Low Light put his hands over his ears. He would lie if he didn't find it amusing to see Brooks, Popelka and Ehrenstein jump up like the Apocalypse was happening. Popelka almost made it to his feet. He rolled and fell off the bed to the floor instead. Brooks was in a fighting stance. Low Light would have to remember that. The lone black man was learning his training. He was prepared as well. Ehrenstein blinked like a wide eyed rabbit. He grabbed at the end table to find his glasses. They had time to put their shorts and tank top on with running gear before Beachhead ordered them out.

This morning they were met by Mutt and Junkyard. The dog was free reign like Order. They didn't have to be leashed. They were well trained. He was surprised to see Spirit and his eagle Freedom though. The Native American was as elusive as Low Light. He was a premier tracker. Spirit could literally find that needle in a haystack. He would be back at base by dinner time. The man was stretching on the ground. He practiced yoga. He was mystic and advisor in one. Psyche Out came to him for suggestions. He had his hands on the ground and his back arched looking up to the sky. He saw Low Light and stopped. He stood up and wiped the dirt from his hands in a clap.

"It's good to see you my friend." Spirit said. They man hugged for a few seconds. It was pats on the shoulders. They stood face to face. "You look well. You look healthy Low Light."

"It's been eight months Spirit." Low Light said.

Above them Freedom screamed. The bird was magnificent in flight. He hovered like no man made airplane could. His wings dipped and flowed on streams of air that couldn't be duplicated. It was a dance in the wind. Low Light could watch it for hours. He slowed by pointing his tail up in a fan. His massive wings spread as he landed. He perched on Spirits shoulder with a rat in his beak. Low Light looked away. He didn't have to. Spirit made an unspoken gesture and the eagle took flight with his prize. He aimed towards the full moon.

Spirit watched the eagle fly away. He looked back at him. His face was serious. "Yes but I see it's still a struggle." He said.

"It always will be." Low Light said.

The Shaman frowned. "It is that way with my people as well. I wish I could offer you solace. It is a battle you must fight yourself."

"I know that Spirit. I also know that there's something else you want to say." Low Light replied. Only the Joe's that have proved themselves on battle and shared experiences knew when there was more to say.

Spirit looked at him sadly. "I'm afraid there's more battles to be waged my friend. Your aura is dark. There will be trials ahead. You must be strong."

"If you're talking about Beachhead's obstacle course, then yes!" It was Brooks. He held his foot in his hand loosening his quadriceps. He didn't make it a secret he was eaves dropping. The black man shook out his legs and walked in small circles. He was a Joe greenshirt. He was chosen to prove himself to be part of the team. He was a good soldier. Low Light didn't like him.

"Get ready MacBride. I'll meet you on the loop." His smile was the smile of a shark. He still outranked Low Light. He enjoyed it.

They hit the ground running. Junkyard ran around the edge of the obstacle course barking at Mutt. The dog seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. When they made it to the mud pit, the dog jumped right in. He followed Mutt up the banks. He shook wet fur and dirt. He was the picture of dog happiness. His tongue stuck out. He kept up until they reached the loop. That was when Low Light slowed down. Ehrenstein passed him in a flash. He watched him head towards the front. Low Light had a bad feeling Brooks and Popelka were going to try something. They were in front of him. Low Light didn't care. This way he could keep an eye on them. He ran side by side with Mutt. The animal handler had his head down breathing with each step. He didn't talk. Junkyard was nowhere to be found.

Spirit was in the front jogging alongside Beachhead. To anyone else it looked like a leisurely stroll. They made it look easy. They were talking. It was five minute miles. They would have to finish in under half an hour to qualify. It was four thirty. Behind them Ehrenstein ran close to their backs. He was a fast little Jew. He didn't pay attention to their conversation.

The stars started to disappear. It wasn't sunrise yet. The glory of the desert wouldn't be seen until the sun was up. At this hour the rock and dirt were washed in grey. It made the terrain look like an ancient alien world from a black and white TV episode. At the bend Low Light lost track of Brooks and Popelka. They disappeared on the corner. That was when he slowed down. Mutt looked over once and kept going. Low Light stayed slightly behind on his left side. The trail bent in an S-shape. It would be the perfect ambush. Beachhead and Spirit would be out of view. The ones behind couldn't be seen.

Low Light didn't know how it happened. He was the last one on the trail. He could still finish in time by his calculation. He was nearing the bend when he saw a shadow. Before him Brooks and Popelka ran slowly. They looked back at him. Brooks had a gleam in his eye. Low Light cussed. Brooks was the prepared one while Popelka seemed to take the black man's orders. They were running slow. Low Light focused on Brooks. He would be the one that needed to be taken down first. Without his leader Popelka would pause. He ran up slowly. They vanished again at the next turn. Beachhead, Spirit and Ehrenstein were a half mile away. Mutt was fifty yards away. He still had his head down. Brooks and Popelka came into view. They were waiting for him.

The bird screamed. Low Light recognized it. In the night air with his wings spread before the full moon could be a photograph. He looked like a Rush Album from Fly by Night. Only he was no owl. The bird had something in his talons. He circled above him. He appeared to be gathering his catch. Low Light didn't know if the bird was looking for Spirit or had simply come across an easy target. Regardless the bird dropped his package at Popelka.

The rat hit Popelka in the head. It stuttered with a sickening slide down his face. It bounced on his chest before it hit the dirt. Its intestines and lungs were sliced open. There was a beating of his head and cries of disgust as Popelka ran. Freedom drifted to the trail. He took his time as he ripped and tore the rats flesh. Popelka ran faster. He beat his head like a man chased by angry wasps the entire time. The greenshirt would do a two minute mile coming in second only to Ehrenstein.

Low Light chuckled.

It was just Brooks and Low Light. The E-3 glared. He kept running. He had his feet up when Junkyard ran out from the scrub brush. He was covered in mud and burrs. He was still smiling. His tongue lopped open when he crossed the dirt road. Brooks never saw him. Low Light did. He stepped out of the way as the dog charged forward. Brooks had time to put his hands out as he fell. He landed on his palms and elbows. It almost looked like the dog tripped him on purpose. But that was impossible. Animals didn't do things like that. Low Light passed by as Brooks was digging pebbles out of his palms. His knees were scraped and the gauze in his nose bled. His left forearm was shredded in a top layer of skin.

Low Light gave a half salute as he passed him.

At the line Beachhead, Spirit, Mutt, Ehrenstein and Popelka were waiting. Freedom was hunting. Mutt only had to give two whistles before the dog came bounding out of the desert to sit by his side. For once it wasn't Low Light's fault.

"Twenty-Seven minutes and thirteen seconds MacBride." He said. "That's just damn pitiful. An old lady's jazzy can make it to the Statue of Liberty and the Grand Canyon but you can't run five miles. That's pathetic MacBride." He stopped his stop watch.

"Yes Staff Sergeant!" Low Light yelled. He wasn't out of breath. He could have done better if not for Brooks and Popelka.

At twenty-eight minutes ten seconds Brooks made it to the finish line. He was cutting it short. His nose was bleeding. His palms were scraped. His knees were bleeding. But the black man made it. Low Light and Beachhead looked at each other.

"It's nice of you to join us Brooks!" Beachhead said. "Did you enjoy your little dirt nap?"

"Yes Staff Sergeant! It's what I live for!" Brooks said.

For all of his disagreements Low Light had to admit that Brooks had the most potential of the greenshirts. He didn't know the word quit. And that was what a Joe was all about.

"Good! Then gear up. Not in your skivvies but in your Full Metal Jacket. We're going on a trip." Beachhead grinned. They left with Brooks following.

They watched them. "Remember my friend. There are trials ahead." Spirit said. He touched him on the shoulder. "Stay strong." He whistled for Freedom. The eagle lofted before settling on his shoulder. They walked out into the desert. That was the last Low Light saw of the Indian.

Low Light missed breakfast. He also missed lunch. After PT he fell asleep. The barracks were dark and cold. No one was around. The greenshirts had their training to do today. Low Light was following Trick Shot. The kid was still missing. He closed his eyes but all he could see was tragedy. Trick Shot was slowly but surely becoming a part of Low Light's daily thoughts. It didn't make him worry less. He grunted. It wasn't his problem. Then his mind went back to the desert. He turned on his back and stared at the ceiling. It was 10 AM.

Low Light heard Trick Shot open the door at 1 PM. He was in bed. The sniper pulled off his clothes and went directly to the shower. He smelled like the fourth day of a three day pass. Low Light listened to the water. He held his arm over his eyes. Trick shot was in the shower for half an hour. When he emerged he sighed and sat at the side of his bed.

"I know you're still awake Low Light." Trick Shot said. It was a whisper.

"So what do you want to do?" Low Light asked. "It's two o'clock. You're on down time."

Trick Shot took his time. He made himself comfortable. "I'm going to sleep. I'm off until Monday. I don't want to talk about it."

Trick Shot turned on his side and put a pillow over his head. He was facing away from Low Light. He turned around. "Hey Low Light?" He mumbled.

"Yeah?" Low Light said.

"Why did you cover for me?" He asked. "They know it wasn't you."

"Go to sleep Dixon." Low Light said. "Save it for Monday. You're off the clock."

Trick Shot nodded. It was hard to understand why Low Light did the things he did. The night sniper had his reasons. He kept those to himself. He was back to greenshirt because of him. Trick Shot wanted to know why. He knew he wouldn't get any answers from Low Light today. He closed his eyes.

"I know about you and my mom. Thank you." Trick Shot said. "I wish it would have been you."

Low Light shrugged. Dixon was starting to drift. He ignored his rambling. Dixon had a lot on his mind. For a few minutes the only thing that was heard was the sound of creeks and coughs as the two men went to sleep. After about five minutes Low Light spoke up. His voice was ephemeral in the dark. "Well, I couldn't do that to you Dixon." He said. With his history Low Light dealt Trick Shot a favor. It showed an unspoken respect and brotherhood the sniper and shooter would share for the next five years.

"Anyway Thank You Low Light." Trick Shot yawned.

Low Light was still awake. It was 5 PM.

It was sun down.

End Chapter One

Sundown and Sorrow by Hank Williams Sr.


	2. Chapter 2

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in ten chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Two

Don't Fade Away

1930

When Brooks and Popelka turned on the lights Dixon was still asleep. He muttered and pulled the covers over his head. Low Light flashed his eyes open. It was a habit. He was only asleep for an hour and a half. His pattern was becoming less and less. He was past sleep deprivation and into sleep psychosis. His eyes were red rimmed. The whites were mapped with cracked webs of broken veins. His tongue was thick. He was dehydrated. It was the time between reality and illusion. It was every bender on a Saturday Night.

The walls dissolved. The door opened through the floor like a cellar. He hallucinated. He wondered why there were greenshirts in his room. He didn't see Beachhead. In front of him he saw Brooks and Popelka as men with the face of a rat. They were looking at him. They were grey. Their teeth dropped in sharp bits with the two front teeth showing. They were talking. Their whiskers bobbed up and down. Popelka raised a hand. To Low Light the rat lifted his hand and wiped his whiskers. He had the presence of mind to dress and put his shoes on.

He turned. It seemed to take an eternity to pass. His movements were without gravity. The closer he walked the further away Brooks and Popelka appeared to be. He must have been blacking out on his feet. When he opened his eyes the scenery changed. Brooks and Popelka were closer. Ehrenstein stood as high as the ceiling. He was a long slender Mongoose with glasses at the end of his pink nose. He tried to say something. He lifted his head and stood on his back legs. He held his hands up against his chest. Low Light wasn't concerned. A Mongoose ate rats. He walked past him. He knew he was imagining it all. He couldn't control his movements. His brain told him to stop he wasn't thinking rationally. It was disconnected. It was beyond his control now.

Low Light stood in front of them. "I'm not afraid of you. This is a dream. You're not real." He said.

Brooks was a fat rat with a wired red tail. He opened his incisors and laughed. Popelka laughed. He was thinner. His tail was coarse and ended in two puffs of hair. The two of them sounded like squeaks.

"Sure freak" Brooks said "Fucking weirdo."

The two rats turned around to play poker on a TV tray. It had Christmas decorations painted on it. They pulled their chairs over. Ehrenstein the Mongoose watched. He dropped to his paws and slithered to the door. He followed Low Light into the night.

The cold air hit him. The stars were too far away. The shadows were too deep. He floated without destination. He watched the Mongoose glide between crates and alleys. That was when the soldiers appeared. They marched behind him slowly. They came in all shapes and sizes. Some were old and some were young. Some were men and some were women. It started out as a handful. A few of them he knew. The rest were nameless targets. They crawled behind him. At each turn more would join. He saw one. It was the dissident from Beirut. Low Light tried to hit him but he was too fast. He mutilated the left side of his head before he could make the second shot. He was a fractured skull with his eye hanging by the nerve. On his shoulder his ear rested as if it were meant to be there. Half of his head was missing. It was a messy kill. The face grinned at him. Low Light looked away.

He didn't know where he was going. He only knew he had to keep moving. He had to stop them from crawling. They were crawling after him. If he stopped he would join them. He would march forever. He forced his feet to move faster. The soldiers stumbled. The slow ones toppled to the ground. The mangle of bodies grew to two hundred in a heap at the entrance of the Pit. Low Light knew if he could just make it to the Pit he would be safe.

The brown Mongoose stood on his back legs. He held his paws up. Low Light was on the ground beating at the Pit door. Behind him the heap started to move.

"They're crawling! You have to stop them from crawling! Can't you see them?" He said. He was beating his knuckles raw until they bled.

As a result the Mongoose waved his security tab. He pulled Low Light in as the first of the soldiers reached the elevator doors. They sat like that for seconds or maybe hours. He didn't know. His sense of time was off. He felt the floor move. It passed the familiar fourth floor. Low Light stood up. The smell of floor cleaner, bleach, and chlorine reached his nose. That was what home-free smelled like. He was home free. The elevator didn't stop. It went two more levels before the elevator opened. This smell was the smell of compressed air and the vents leading to the top of the Pit.

The Mongoose morphed. He was now Ehrenstein. They were at the library doors. It was the only safe place Ehrenstein knew. When they walked in the lights came on automatically. Ehrenstein led Low Light over to the couch. The night sniper fell down and pulled a cushion out. He did that three times before he was covered. He slept between the frame and the cushions as if he were hiding. Ehrenstein watched. He didn't know what else to do. His hand wavered. He called Beachhead. The drill sergeant was pissed off to be interrupted on a Friday Night. But when Ehrenstein explained there was a silence at the end of the line.

"Alright" He said "keep an eye on him Ehrenstein. I'll be right there."

Low Light had an arm over a sofa cushion when Beachhead and Cover Girl saw him. They were non entities. Low Light only knew them by smell. Beachhead smelled like earth and something else tonight. It was earth, sweat, sex and a mix of strawberries and mango. Somehow it was comforting. He was safe. That was when he let himself be pulled further below. It was the place without dreams. It was all black. He vaguely heard them discussing him. It was as if he was at the bottom of the ocean looking up. He only remembered bits and pieces.

"I didn't know what else to do." He heard Ehrenstein say.

"It's alright Ehrenstein. You made the right call." Beachhead said.

"So what do I do? You can't just let him sleep like that."

"Oh yes you can! If that's how he wants to sleep then just leave him alone. That's an order Ehrenstein. You will not and do not wake him up." Beachhead said. "You don't know the consequences."

Beachhead did.

He heard Ehrenstein sigh. He followed Beachhead and Cover Girl to the door.

"Good night MacBride." He said "You'll be safe here."

When they left the lights stayed on for five minutes. Then they flickered off. Low Light was left in the dark with no dreams, no nightmares, with safety and security. The soldiers wouldn't have him tonight.

That was where Trick Shot found him. It was 8 AM. Low Light lay on his stomach with his fingers dragging the floor. A couch cushion covered his legs. The second one covered up to his back. The third was discarded on the floor. The usual lines he carried when he was awake were replaced by peace. He was still. Trick Shot approached cautiously. He woke up at 6 AM. Or that was he regained consciousness at 6 AM. Ehrenstein was the one who told him where Low Light was. He felt like shit. It should have been him. Instead it was Ehrenstein that stuck by him. Low Light covered for him at every turn. Then when Low Light needed him he was too drunk.

He tapped him on the shoulder and stood back. There was no telling what Low Light would do when he woke up. He stayed away from arms reach. Lisa Arnobit would tell him. She was the last real girlfriend Low Light had. He met her the way most of the military met: at a bar. She had honey gold hair that hung to her shoulders. Her eyes were blue. Her nose was slightly large and crooked. It should have been repaired. She didn't mind Low Light's binges. They dated off and on for three years. She talked about marriage. Beachhead thought they would get married. So did everyone else. Low Light thought about it seriously for the first time in his life. That was a year ago. She would whisper for him to stay after sex. He always left.

Then there was the time he was too drunk to drive. He was in no condition to ride a motorcycle. He wanted to sleep it off in the living room. Lisa was adamant. They made love in a hazy blur. Low Light remembered that much. When they curled up together he was instantly asleep. Violence was the last thing on his mind. Her cry was what woke him up. She was holding onto her eye. There were specks of blood at her lip where a tooth was loose.

When Low Light took her to the emergency room a domestic violence sticker was placed on her chart. Lisa denied it. They didn't believe her. They assumed it was battered woman syndrome. Low Light was interrogated for six hours before he was cuffed and placed into custody. The only thing he could say was he didn't remember. That was when Law and Mutt had to bail him out of jail.* He was labeled as a woman beater. It took three months to clear his name. He owed it mostly to Law. His interviews with Lisa were tantamount to a biblical record. He was anything but persistent. Once he had his teeth in something he didn't let go.

It didn't help Low Light. The night he was brought back General Hawk was there. Low Light was still semi drunk. He was placed in the Military Prison for three days. That was when his confinement started. He had to see Psyche Out once a week. To this day rumors said he was everything from a woman beater to a rapist. He hit women to he killed a woman. Even some of the senior Joe's believed it. None of it was the truth. He still heard from Lisa once in a while. The last time was before Sierra Gordo. She was doing well in Moab taking adventure seekers off the beaten path where they could mountain bike and rock climb. She was a guide along the Colorado River. She took people white water rafting to places normal tourists would never see. She loved it.

Low Light's eyes wavered. He opened them. It took a while but recognition started to dawn. He was in the library. Trick Shot was there. He was sleeping _under _the couch cushions. He threw the one off his back. He plucked at the one on his legs. He swung them over with a groan as he sat up. His tongue scratched and his back hurt. He made two false starts before he could get on his feet. The lights were too bright. He started to pick up the couch cushions. Trick Shot helped. It wasn't the weirdest place he woke up in. At least there wasn't a strange woman beside him. He groaned.

"I feel like I've been sleeping in a hole." He said.

Trick Shot looked at the couch. His body imprint was on it. "That's because you _were_ sleeping in a hole." He said.

"Damn you're right. Did I do anything?" Low Light asked.

He held his arms above his head and cracked his back. He was still tired. He wanted no more than to go back to the barracks and go back to sleep. His stomach said otherwise. He was hungry. He hadn't eaten in twenty four hours. He was asleep for ten. It was the residuals of hypersomnia. Now that he was past insomnia his body craved more. Doctors would tell him that he couldn't make up for sleep. He thought that was bullshit. He _could _make up for sleep. In the past three days he slept in two to four hours blocks. Last night he slept ten. He felt like he could use another ten.

Trick Shot shook his head. "I don't know. It was Ehrenstein that brought you down here." He said.

"It was Ehrenstein huh?" Low Light asked. He finished putting the couch cushions back where they belonged.

Trick Shot nodded. The way Low Light was looking away from him didn't help. He was silent. Then out of blue he walked to the doors.

"I'm hungry." He said. "I'm going to get some breakfast. I could use a cup of coffee. I have sniper qualifications this morning. Are you coming?" He asked.

They went up to the mess hall where Ehrenstein, Brooks, Popelka and a few Joe's were having breakfast. Ehrenstein looked up but didn't say anything. He was at the greenshirts table. Low Light glanced over. He made a Bee Line straight towards the coffee machine. He added three ice cubes and took a drink. If he made it to Heaven he hoped there was a coffee machine. The caffeine flowed in his blood stream as much as oxygen and carbon dioxide. He drank the first cup as he stood. That was what he called the starter cup. The second cup was the real thing. By then he was awake. No name cook was there looking at him. Low Light grunted. That meant runny eggs and oatmeal. He was too hungry to worry about it. He had two servings of eggs and one more cup of coffee. He grabbed a Little Debbie.

He was finishing his coffee as he and Trick Shot made it to the Armory. Beachhead stopped them ten feet before the door. In his hand he held the Dragunov. He held it out to him.

"Think you can push this antique to a thousand yards MacBride?" He asked.

Low Light didn't have to answer as he held the familiar sniping rifle in his hands.

"Step back and you just watch me." Low Light said.

"Good because General Hawk needs both his snipers up and ready come Monday morning. Make it count." Beachhead said.

The three of them walked towards the firing range.

End Chapter Two

Don't Fade Away by Willie Nelson

*see Sympathy for the Devil Chapter Three

Yeah the couch cushion thing happened to me. I was drunk. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I thought it was blankets. KSlycke


	3. Chapter 3

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in ten chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Three

Night Life

1000

The Dragunov still had its original wood casing. It was scratched and well worn. Low Light rebuilt it ten years ago by hand. It had a hallow stock. Most of the Joe's and greenshirts had never seen one. Compared to the modern sniping rifles it seemed almost childish. Beachhead wasn't joking when he called it an antique. But it was still the best rifle Low Light owned. After thirty years it was smoothed and molded to his hands. It was the first rifle he ever shot. It was his father's. It was the only possession he had of the man. He had the chamber modified to accept standardized ammunition. It was a gas powered semi automatic with a curved ten round clip. Low Light welded the quick detachable side drop scope to the right side instead of the familiar left. He was left handed. The magnification was originally 4 times with an area of degree of six. That was superior range in 1963. Low Light replaced it with his own patented scope. Between the scope and the rifle it was deadly.

In the wood his father burned 'Cooper G. MacBride 1979'.

It was ten AM. Word spread quickly. By the time Low Light, Trick Shot, and Beachhead reached the firing range a small crowd was growing. Several greenshirts had never met the night sniper. A lot have only heard of him. Now they had the chance to see him action. They didn't realize his full potential was in the dead of night. When they were asleep was when Low Light was at his best. Today Dwight Stall was at the range. He was known as Barrel Roll. He was busy going up and down the line checking position and stance. Even he thought it was ridiculous to be checking Low Light off for his sniper qualifications. He greeted him sheepishly. He was the one chosen to pass him. Low Light stood and waited his turn. Today the minimum measurement needed to pass was eight hundred yards. He eyed the Dragunov and prepared. When it was his turn Low Light positioned himself. Barrel Roll stood behind him with binoculars. He gave the go ahead. Low Light took his shot.

Barrel Roll spoke out of habit. "That's a hit." He said. He had to correct himself. "No! It's a miss!" He looked through his binoculars. The target was still intact. It seemed impossible.

Everyone looked shocked. Trick Shot blinked. Brooks and Popelka snickered.

"Look again." Low Light said. He had the scope to his eye and his finger on the trigger.

Barrel Roll bent down. "You missed the target Low Light." He whispered. He kept his voice down. Everyone was watching. It was embarrassing.

Low Light stood up. He disassembled the chamber. He appeared to not be paying attention to what Barrel Roll said. "I wasn't aiming for _that _target. I was aiming for the _next _target." He said. "Look again."

At sixteen hundred yards was a quarter sized bullet hole directly in the center of the target.

Barrel Roll laughed. "I knew I should have saved my time and just tabbed you." He said. They shook hands. "That thing is fifty years old and you can still pull it off. Let me know if you want to sell it someday. I'll give you a good price. Now get the fuck out of here. I'll submit the paperwork to Hawk."

Low Light turned around and stared directly at Brooks and Popelka. On any given day he wasn't the type. Today he smirked. "Come on Dixon. Let's get my gear." He said. He made a point to say it loud enough for them to hear.

He turned to Beachhead. "Permission to be excused Staff Sergeant."

Beachhead nodded. "Permission granted." He said. He was smiling beneath his mask.

Low Light paused and looked at the Dragunov. "If it's not too much trouble I would prefer to give my sniping rifle to someone I trust." Low Light said. He handed it back to Beachhead. "I know you will take good care of it."

"It's only temporary MacBride. You'll have it back in three months." Beachhead said. "I'll keep it where it belongs."

The only reason Beachhead brought the Dragunov was because he knew it was Low Light's most familiar rifle. He didn't have to go into the qualifications with a new weapon. Low Light could have easily passed no matter what he was shooting. This evened the odds. He would hang it on his side of the room where he kept his gun racks. He walked off.

Low Light and Trick Shot passed the row of greenshirts. "Hey MacBride" Barrel Roll said. He jogged towards them. Low Light turned around "How about later on we have a friendly competition" He grinned "Like come around Monday?" He said.

Low Light and Trick Shot looked at each other. Barrel Roll knew something they didn't know. It was Trick Shot that said it first. "What about Monday?" He asked.

Barrel Roll smiled. "I guess the gossip didn't make it down to the barracks. That's for the Joe's." He didn't see Low Light wince. He continued. "The word is Hawk is gathering all of his best snipers for a competition Monday. Since you won last year you were automatically selected. Meet your competition." He said. He pointed his thumb to himself.

"It's you?" Low Light asked.

Barrel Roll moved his head up and down. "I wouldn't miss the chance for a family reunion now would I? Thom is going to be there I guarantee it." He said.

Thomas Stall was known in the sniper community as Blackout. He was Barrel Roll's brother. He was also a Cobra. Low Light had the decency not to mention it. "The rumor is it's you, Janack, me and about twelve other snipers making it. There's supposed to be some up and coming hot shot coming in as a dark horse. That's who you'll really go up against. He laughed. "Ace already has odds on him twenty to one. Do us all a favor and poke your eye out."

Low Light met a lot of so-called up and comers over the years. They came from all over the globe from Russia to South Africa from Israel to Indonesia. Some were actually good. But when competition got stiff it was Low Light that was the last one standing. And this year he was taking Trick Shot. Between the two of them they would be unstoppable.

Shipwreck was back in the Armory. He stood up when he heard the door open. He pulled his phone back out when he saw who it was. Fruit Ninja was playing.

"Don't ask" He said "Let's just say you're not the only one on Hawk's shit list Low Light. Let me guess. You passed your sniper qualifications. Imagine that I already have your M110 checked out. I'm psychic that way." He tapped the side of his head and smiled. "Hey how are you doing Trick Shot? You don't come and visit us in the Motor Pool any more. You hurt Clutch's feelings. I guess you're too busy with Firewall huh?" He winked.

Trick Shot shifted nervously. Low Light didn't appear like he heard. It had been two months. In that time the sniper and the computer expert had grown closer. What started as a crush was now a full blown romance. They both worked nights now and on their weekends off they would spend their down time with the rest of the greenshirts. The greenshirts who knew kept it to themselves if not encouraged it. They didn't show it to any of the Joe's. He didn't even tell Low Light. His mom passed it off. If General Hawk knew Trick Shot didn't want to think about it.

Shipwreck laughed. He was taking down Low Light's sniping rifle and double checking the standard side arm he was required to wear. Without his armament Low Light felt naked. He held out his hand. His relief was palpable. Shipwreck had his goggles in their case. Across the front in ticker tape was 'Low Light'.

"What do you want these too?" Shipwreck asked. "You sure are needy today. What do we say?" He said.

"I'm armed." Low Light replied.

Trick Shot laughed.

Shipwreck thought about it a second then shrugged. "Fair enough" He said "Since you were so nice about it."

Like Low Light's sniping rifle his goggles were as much a part of him as the rest of his gear. Without them he felt too vulnerable as if people could see too close to his soul. The sun was too bright. The colors blurred. He had to squint constantly. He couldn't see. At night the dark felt oppressive. The shadows stretched too far. He wasn't afraid of it like people thought. He welcomed it when the sun went down. It was sleep he was afraid of. He never knew what would happen. Last night was an indicator. He was used to Beachhead. Low Light seemed to know even when he was in a deep sleep that his secret was safe. Beachhead wouldn't say anything. With the greenshirts he was uncomfortable. It was like being exposed as a bed wetter.

He snapped his vest and added his 9 millimeter. On his right side he kept his scope. It was a glass and polymer scope he and Sci Fi developed after World War III. That was when he was working in CSI. He was tired of using outdated equipment. It started as a hobby. Then between the two of them they realized they could make a scope even better. Low Light polished it. Sci Fi added the logistics. It had smart technology built in with backwards compatibility to his goggles. Where he looked the scope looked. He only had to blink twice for it to magnify. He blinked once and it was back to normal range.

They named it the MB-SF #17-2b. The MB stood for MacBride. The SF stood for Seymour Fine. That was Sci Fi's name. The 17 was for the 17 prototypes they went through. The b stood for blue print. There were only five in the entire world. Low Light kept two. Sci Fi kept one. Another one they locked in a vault. The last one was in a case at the bottom of Trick Shot's footlocker. He had the scope but he didn't have the key. Yet.

Low Light put his signature knit cap on. Beachhead would have to stop calling him hippie. Except for his too new boots he was dressed the same again. He took the time to walk around. The extra weight felt like a shield. It felt good. When he smiled his crooked bottom teeth showed. Trick Shot and Shipwreck watched. It was like watching a man discover home again after years apart.

Shipwreck leaned across the counter. "It feels good huh Low Light." He said.

"It's not too bad." Low Light grinned.

Shipwreck snorted. He looked at Trick Shot. "You are one lucky bastard I hope you know that kid." He said. "Don't forget it."

Trick Shot would probably never know how much of a risk the senior sniper took with him. At the moment it was neither here nor there. They left the Armory the same way they entered months ago. Low Light walked out in the sun with Trick Shot following behind him. It took a while for Low Light to get used to his goggles again. He had passing waves of nausea but not nearly as bad as Trick Shot. He had to stop every few yards and get his bearings. He put his hand against the wall. Except for dry heaves it didn't take long before he was back to normal. Trick Shot stood by. It was like that until they reached the barracks. It was noon.

Ehrenstein met them as they came in. He looked at Low Light. He was unlike the man-child he led by the hand to the library last night. In uniform he was confident. He was fearless. And today he was smiling.

"Ehrenstein" Low Light said "Don't you have any down time?" He asked. The Jew was studying his law books again. Both he and Trick Shot took off their scopes and started cleaning them. They dismantled their weapons and set them aside on the bunk.

Ehrenstein pushed his glasses up. "Law wants me to know judicial policy and jury selection by Monday." He said.

Low Light and Trick Shot continued. They had a camaraderie together based upon job description. Ehrenstein didn't have any Jewish law students to talk to. The majority of the time he studied and followed the rules. That was what would get him through law school. It would earn his father's respect. Ehrenstein worked hard for both.

"If Law is pushing you hard then that means he knows you're up to it Ehrenstein." Low Light said. It was the first time since he walked through the door that he look up at him. "He knows you can do it."

"That or he's just being an asshole." Trick Shot said.

Ehrenstein laughed. Both Low Light and Trick Shot never heard him laugh before.

"Come on Ehrenstein. We're all going out tonight to Thompson. It's a sort of celebration for MacBride for passing his sniper qualifications. You're invited too." Trick Shot said. "It's Saturday!"

Ehrenstein smiled but Low Light looked away.

They didn't notice.

End Chapter Three

Night Life

Night Life by George Jones


	4. Chapter 4

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in ten chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Four

Sunday Morning Coming Down

1800

Low Light was taking Trick Shot, Firewall, and Ehrenstein into Thompson. He was the designated driver. What they did after that was their business. He would meet them at last call. No one wanted the old guy hanging around. Trick Shot was in the shower so long Low Light thought he would drown. He wanted to run in and say 'don't do it kid! There's too much to live for!' When he emerged he smelled like a cologne factory. Low Light didn't know how he shaved. He might as well use a lint roller on that so-called beard of his. He grunted. He was twenty-two once. It was in Nicaragua. Not much changed for him since then. He still wasn't out to impress anyone. His T-shirt and jeans worked just fine. The women he met weren't the picky type. He added an extra twenty to his billfold just in case. If he had time he would head to Nebraska. He could use it. Cindy might be there. She was one of his favorites. He doubted it was her real name.

Trick Shot was dressed in a button down shirt and black slacks with a jacket. He kept fucking with his hair. Ehrenstein had on a polo shirt and khakis with a jip front fall jacket. The Jew was automatically setting himself up for failure. He looked excited. Low Light had to admit Firewall looked cute in a long dress and black pumps. Her hair was down. He didn't know it was her until Trick Shot smiled. She took the effort to look nice. Next to them Low Light looked the epitome of 'chaperone'. He wasn't planning much for the night anyway.

Trick Shot tossed him the keys. It was twilight. The base was stirring. They weren't the only ones with down time. The greenshirts were heading towards the parking lot in groups. Low Light saw Snake Eyes and Scarlet pull out. They went out and did whatever it was they did. What it was Low Light never saw them in town. At the Pit doors Beachhead looked impatient. That meant Cover Girl was taking her time. They would probably fight about it. Wayne Sneeden was obsessed with punctuality. Courtney was more laid back. They would probably end the night in a good way. He had the room to himself. He had three months to take advantage of it. Low Light didn't blame him. He lifted his hand as he walked past.

Thompson was just beginning to start when they drove through. The farmer's kids were already cruising in pick-ups and parents' cars on the strip. At The Rave the eighteen year old and above crowd was standing in line. There were greenshirts that were old enough to drive but too young to drink. The majority of them hung out at The Tavern on the Boulevard. It was a dance club and bar and grill. There were a dozen military vehicles parked in the front and in the back. Low Light dropped Trick Shot, Firewall, and Ehrenstein off. He drove past the Thompson Inn where Sharon Dixon stayed the night before. The older Joe's and officers preferred the low key bar. He headed to Starkey's Lounge. It was outside of town about ten miles along the highway. It was known as a biker bar. Low Light liked it because he knew the people there. They served hot foot and strong drinks and no one talked about their personal lives. There was a mix of choppers, trucks, and bikes at the entrance.

Country music hit his ears as he walked in. It was the end of some Johnny Cash song. The jukebox started into Ghost Riders in the Sky. It was the original Vaughan Monroe and The Sons of the Pioneers version. Several eyes looked at him as he went to the corner. They didn't say anything. Low Light sat at the edge where he could see the entrance. It was where he usually went. He didn't have anyone at his back. Trish met him at the counter. She was a large woman at close to two hundred or two hundred and twenty pounds. Her breasts were massive. Tonight she wore a shirt that showed her cleavage. She said it was better for tips. They had a drunken one night stand neither one of them could remember years ago. She smiled wide. She had two teeth missing on her right side.

"Hey Coop. What'll it be?" She said. She didn't bother to ask what he was up to. That was anyone's guess. She worked at Starkey's too long to ask. She wiped down the counter and put a bowl of stale pretzels in front of him. The rag smelled like beer. It left the counter still sticky. On the TV was a fishing show.

"It's just a Sprite tonight Trish." Low Light said. "And some jalapeño poppers if you have them. Did you see Cindy around?" He asked.

Trish laughed. "Fuck Coop. It really has been too long. Cindy took off about five or six months ago with some long hauler going to Texas." She said.

"Oh yeah?" Low Light said "Was it safe?"

The one thing about prostitutes was they were always willing and able to get out of Dodge at the drop of a hat. Once they worked their John's they were onto the next best thing. Cindy was in Thompson for three years.

"Yeah she left with a regular of hers. He seemed to like her." Trish said. She pressed the button for Sprite and filled his glass. "Are you looking for a date?" She asked.

Low Light thought about it. "I might be. I haven't made up my mind. The rest are a bunch of kids. That's a damn shame about Cindy."

Trish went down the bar to refill a Jack. The amber whiskey was tempting. It didn't take her long to make it back. No one else was talking. She leaned forward. Her giant boobs fell on the counter. Low Light couldn't help but look. "It depends on how much you're willing to spend." She said. Under the music no one else would hear. "Give me a couple hours and I can find something. It's going to be about fifty dollars with the one I'm thinking of." She asked.

Low Light sat back. "For fifty dollars it better be all inclusive." He said.

Trish nodded. "You'll get your money's worth Coop trust me."

"And I don't want any twenty year old." Low Light added. He pulled out his billfold and flashed it open. Trish would have to make sure he had the money before she set it up.

"Nope you'll like her I guarantee it." Trish smiled. She set a plate of chicken wings and celery in front of him. It was his favorite. She looked at the end of the bar. The rest were waiting on refills. "Hang tight Coop. I have business to take care of." She said.

She went back to filling strong man's whiskey and bourbon.

Cover Girl was driving like a maniac. The road to Thompson was one lane. She took the turns too fast and revved the engine on the straight-aways. Beachhead held onto the 'Oh Shit Bar'. It was past eight-thirty. She took her time getting dressed. Beachhead didn't care. The model looked just as good in camo as she did in nothing at all. He opted for nothing at all. Tonight she had on a purple short dress and high heeled sandals. He wondered why it took that long to pick it out. They weren't planning on being out that late. At least he wasn't. Her high beams hit the reflectors until they started coming into more traffic. At ten miles out Cover Girl passed the first of the bars. It was Starkey's. Beachhead recognized Low Light's truck. It's what he took into town when he didn't have his motorcycle. It was the only one with SNPR Utah license plates. He cursed.

"Son of a bitch" He murmured "Courtney turn around."

Cover Girl looked at him. "What? We're not stopping there! That's some kind of loser bar. I thought we were going to the Inn? I'm not even dressed for that kind of place. Ugh! Wayne!"

"Just turn around Courtney! We're not staying!" Beachhead said. "Do it!"

Cover Girl slammed on the brakes. Beachhead had to stop himself by putting his hands on the passenger side dash board. There wasn't a place to turn around on the highway. Cover Girl did a six point reverse by the time she made it. Even then she left skid marks as she peeled out. The bar was two miles away. Starkey's Lounge wasn't that well lit. It had a rock parking lot. There were bikes in the front. She felt uncomfortable.

"Don't tell me you expect me to go in there." She said. She slowed until she turned. She found a parking spot that the rest seemed to make themselves. None of them were designated or marked.

"You can stay here for all I care." Beachhead said. He was pissed. He had the door open before Cover Girl stopped.

Darlene was a blonde with a professional hair cut. Low Light had to think if the curtains matched the carpet. She was new. She said she was from Seattle. She was in her mid thirties. She was a truck stop beauty. She was the kind that hitched rides from town to town. In her case she seemed fresh and unused. She didn't have the hard face of a regular whore. She took care of herself. She was of a higher class than Low Light normally saw. She could earn a hundred bucks on a trick. Trish said she offered fifty. It was less than he expected. He fed her a black and blue salad and a good wine Starkey's offered. She had a way of keeping a conversation going. He knew when he saw her that he would spend his money on her. He tapped his fingers on the bar. He approved. Trish kept the wine flowing.

He wasn't expecting Beachhead and Cover Girl to show up. He had a pile of chicken bones and a cup of blue cheese dressing on his plate when Beachhead confronted him. Low Light looked up.

"Cooper!" Beachhead yelled. Behind him Cover Girl was standing in high heels. She was almost as tall as Beachhead. Everyone was staring at them. They weren't the normal clientele of Starkey's Lounge. They were too clean.

Low Light wiped his face. Across Darlene looked curiously. "What?" He said. He was just as surprised to see Beachhead as Beachhead was surprised to see him. He set a chicken bone on his plate and pushed it aside.

"What are you doing here?" Low Light said.

Beachhead didn't talk. He grabbed Low Light's glass and sniffed it. "It's just Sprite Beach. I promise. I'm not drinking. I'm driving Trick Shot, Firewall, and Ehrenstein tonight. I swear!" Low Light said. "If you don't believe me ask Trish! Here's my receipt." He had to half stand as he dug in his pocket and showed it to him.

Beachhead grabbed at it. He seemed to be satisfied. He set his glass down on the table and glanced at Darlene. The woman looked clean. She was nothing like what Beachhead was used to Low Light sitting with. She used a corner of her napkin to wipe her lips. She looked embarrassed.

"I think I should go." Darlene said. "It was nice meeting you."

She left in an emerald green Mercury Sable driving slowly towards Thompson.

Low Light watched. He looked at Beachhead and Cover Girl. They didn't have to have it written out to know what happened.

"That was really gross Low Light." Cover Girl said. Even she could tell what was going on.

Low Light was angry for once. He missed his opportunity because of them. He unlocked the door of the truck. "If you don't like it don't fucking come here." He said. He narrowed his eyes. "No one invited you." He looked at Beachhead. He was a man. He had the sense to look like he misjudged it.

He did big time. "Thanks Captain Cock Block. Next time mind your own fucking business. I do." He said. He looked at Cover Girl to make his point. He walked outside and started the truck. He had one goal. He headed towards Thompson. It was eleven PM. The kids were getting ready to head back. Behind him Cover Girl pulled out. In his rearview mirror he could see her arguing with Beachhead.

Beachhead and Cover Girl followed him all the way into town. Low Light watched them turn into the Thompson Inn. They would spend the night together. So would Trick Shot and Firewall. Snake Eyes and Scarlet were out. Low Light missed his opportunity. He had fifty dollars in his pocket. He was frustrated. He stood under a light post listening to loud music coming from the Tavern on the Boulevard. People were laughing but Low Light was in a bad mood. He was left out. He wanted a drink. He wanted to fuck. But between them both he wanted a drink more.

Trick Shot and Firewall were the first ones to come outside. They were hanging off of each other. The way Trick Shot looked at her meant they wouldn't be going back to base tonight. He started talking before Low Light stopped him. "Not tonight. I'll meet you in the morning. Do you have condoms?" He pulled two out just in case. Trick Shot took them. They were too drunk to argue it. They left to the Thompson Inn. Ehrenstein followed him.

"Well that was fun." He said.

Low Light looked over. The Jew was belted in and clear eyed. "Ehrenstein didn't you even drink?" He asked. He watched the road as they went back to the base.

"Oh I don't drink Sir" Ehrenstein said "It's against my religion."

"You're lucky Ehrenstein." Low Light said. "You're very lucky. And you don't have to call me Sir."

The taste of whiskey and beer was still in his mouth.

End Chapter Four

Sunday Morning Coming Down


	5. Chapter 5

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in ten chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Five

Family Tradition

0900

Beachhead woke her up at 5 AM. She wanted to sleep in. He was gone for an hour. He ran the entirety of Thompson by the time he came back. A Sunday didn't stop him. Cover Girl was eating a fruit bowl and cottage cheese. It didn't seem like enough. It was still better than the breakfasts at the Pit. She couldn't get fresh fruit or cottage cheese on base. She enjoyed it. Beachhead met her at the restaurant. He was cleaned up. The waitress filled his coffee cup. He looked over at her plate and stole a grape. She was still tired. They were up longer than Cover Girl expected. She drank more coffee as Beachhead picked at her fruit. He was waiting to order.

"Stop it Wayne. That's mine." She grumbled. Cover Girl was never a morning person. Beachhead was just hitting his stride. He smiled and crunched a grape in his back teeth. It was annoying the shit out of her. He was doing it on purpose.

"You're cranky this morning Princess." Beachhead said. "I thought I took care of that."

He was grinning. Cover Girl rolled her eyes. "Yeah thanks Captain Cock Block." She smirked. Now that she heard it she couldn't get it out of her head. Beachhead groaned.

She sighed. "I can't believe you just look the other way." She said. She bent down to take a sip of coffee.

"With who? Low Light?" Beachhead asked. He tried to reach over again. She smacked his hand away.

"Do you know any other scary night snipers that hang around with prostitutes?" Cover Girl said. She said it too loud. She took a quick look around to see if anyone heard. The rest of the patrons were busy with their own conversations.

"That's disgusting. Not to mention it's illegal." She whispered. "What if General Hawk found out? Maybe he can slap them around but not me. I can't believe they put up with that."

"You don't believe those rumors do you Courtney?" Beachhead asked. "Besides he was cleared of that last year. Even Lisa said it was an accident. He was drunk."

"Lisa? Good God they have names?" Cover Girl said. "And since when is being drunk an excuse to hit a woman?"

"Yes _Lisa_. That was his girlfriend." Beachhead said. He tapped his fingers on the table to make a point. "And he didn't hit her. They were in bed and"

"Stop! No! Eeewww! I don't want to hear about Low Light's kinky sex….._stuff_." She waved her hands around and covered her ears.

Beachhead laughed. "It wasn't like that." He said.

They were quiet for a moment. Cover Girl needed to wake up some more and Beachhead was looking around for the waitress.

"I didn't know Low Light had a girlfriend." Cover Girl said. She looked down. "Why didn't I know?"

"Well he keeps things pretty private." Beachhead replied. He turned catty corner in the booth and waved at the waitress. "Unless he knows you he doesn't talk much. They're not together anymore."

Cover Girl snorted. "Well I hope not after all of that. Why would he be going out with prostitutes then?" She shook her head. "He was pretty mad last night but it's still gross."

Beachhead shrugged. "I guess he has his reasons. He's not drinking that's the only thing I'm worried about." He said.

"So you're worried about drinking but not prostitutes. How does that make sense Wayne?"

"If you knew you wouldn't ask that question Barbie. Christ where is a waitress around here?" He waved his hand in the air again.

They were saved from the conversation by the waitress coming over. Beachhead ordered biscuits and gravy with sausage and grits. It was thoroughly Southern fare. It wasn't anything near the real thing but it was the best Thompson had to offer.

"And a fruit plate." Courtney said.

For the rest of their breakfast they sat in silence.

The only time they were interrupted was when the topic of conversation walked in. Low Light looked rested enough. He had mirrored aviator sunglasses on. It was hard to tell. He went up to the bar and ordered a coffee. He didn't look their way. It was actually Cover Girl that went up and invited him over. He nodded once and came over. He sat down uncomfortably. Someone had to take the high road when there was a low road. Low Light was good for it. He was the resident expert on taking knocks; even when they weren't his to take.

Cover Girl started. "Are you going to have breakfast?" She asked. She waved at Beachhead. "I believe you've met Captain Cock Block."

That made Low Light snort. He rubbed his hair. "Yeah I'm sorry about that Beach." He said.

Beachhead shrugged it off. "It's not the worst thing I've been called. It is the most creative though. I give you an A plus for that." He said. "If you didn't see anything then I didn't see anything. As far as you know we were playing pinochle all night."

It seemed like Low Light spent a lot of time covering for people. It was probably because he could be trusted to keep it to himself. His friends were few and far between. With them he was loyal to a fault. He wouldn't tell secrets.

Low Light grinned. "So that's what they're calling it these days. My favorite game" He said. "Speaking of which have you seen the kids?" He asked.

"They're probably still busy. It's not check out yet. They still have a couple more hours." He crunched on some toast and used it to point at him. "You need to do something about the kid. He was blind drunk when I saw him last night Low Light."

"He's not my kid Beach. What do you want me to do?" Low Light said. "I'm not his life coach."

"I know that. But you still look out for him. I know you do. You're here aren't you?" Beachhead said. "I have a bad feeling he's following too close in your footsteps. Don't let that happen."

"Hell Beach it's a Family Tradition by now. The kid has to find out on his own."

"No. He doesn't. He's a good kid Low Light. Mrs. Dixon didn't raise him that way and you know it. You met her." Beachhead said. "Does she seem like the type to let her son go around drinking himself to death?"

"No."

"Then do something about it."

"Shit Beachhead you make it sound like I'm corrupting the boy." Low Light mumbled.

"Yeah but you don't have to. You can fix it." Beachhead said.

Low Light looked away. He was quiet. Cover Girl was watching him. He looked back at Beachhead. "I'll think about it. I'm not making any promises." He said.

"That's fair. That's all you have to do."

Low Light sighed. He looked at the mug. His coffee was very interesting. It was anywhere away from Beachhead and Cover Girl. He had his opinion and Beachhead had his. Low Light rebelled against the role he was put in. Beachhead kept encouraging it. Trick Shot seemed less like a partner than a work in progress. It was the toughest assignment he was called up for. He didn't want it. He wasn't ready.

"Do you feel better now?" Beachhead asked. He meant from last night.

Low Light was mid sip. He set his coffee down. "Eh you know Jill's a pretty good stand by when there's nothing else to do." He said.

That caught Cover Girl's attention. "Oh really? Jill? Good for you Low Light. That's nice. I don't think I've met her before." She said. "What's she like?"

Both Beachhead and Low Light blinked at her. "Uh I'd say she's pretty handy. She can be rough around the edges. She could use some hand lotion." He looked over at Beachhead. "She's always close by at least." He said.

He nodded. "Yeah she's real reliable like that."

"Oh yeah Jill's real hand-y." Beachhead said. He was trying not to laugh.

"You met her?" Cover Girl said. She was too happy to notice them looking at her.

"Oh sure I think most of the men on base have met her. Well maybe not Ehrenstein or Snake Eyes." He said.

"Why haven't I met her then?" Cover Girl asked. "You should bring her next time. It's better than you know what you were doing last night." She said.

"Sure!" Low Light smiled. Cover Girl didn't remember the last time she saw him smile or laugh so hard. "Are you sure you want to meet her though?" He asked.

Cover Girl nodded. "You're really sure?" He said.

She smiled. "I think it'll be great!" She said. She was excited to meet Low Light's new girlfriend.

"Alright next Friday at…."

"DON'T YOU DARE MACBRIDE!"

Low Light chuckled.

He saw Trick Shot and Firewall stumble in. If a hangover had a face it would be Trick Shot. Their eyes were swollen and red. They didn't see Low Light, Beachhead or Cover Girl.

"Anyway that's my cue. See you later." Low Light said. He stood up and took his coffee with him.

Behind him he heard Cover Girl arguing. "Don't you think we should meet her before you automatically say no? I mean it's his girlfriend Wayne. I don't remember him having a girlfriend. It could be good for him." She said.

"Oh it's good for him that's for sure." Beachhead mumbled.

"Why do you have to be so cranky? I thought I took care of that last night." She teased. "See? Low Light is in a good mood with Jill. I hope it works out."

"Courtney stop. Just. Stop."

Today he woke up early enough to have breakfast and coffee before he picked up Trick Shot and Firewall. He dropped Ehrenstein off at the barracks where Brooks and Popelka were already asleep. The Jew wasn't far behind them. They weren't used to being awake that late anymore. Low Light spent the next two hours on personal time before his eyes got heavy. He was rested and clear headed. It was rare. After last night he shouldn't be in a good mood. In the past Sunday's was the bane of his existence. He spent too many years in a fog to remember most of them. He missed out on a lot. This time he stepped silently behind Trick Shot and Firewall. They were glaring into their coffee cups. When they were near passing out again Low Light grabbed them by the shoulders.

"Hey kids!" He said.

Trick Shot jumped out of his seat so fast he used his coffee cup as a sniper rifle. Firewall choked on coffee and curled up in a ball in her chair.

Low Light snickered. "What were you planning on doing Dixon? Caffeinating me to death?" He said.

"Too late." He clinked his mug with his.

"You're an asshole Low Light." Trick Shot said. "I should order you to carry my stuff around or something." He mumbled.

By then Firewall was sitting back in her chair.

"I'm driving you back to base. That's good enough. Say hello to Beachhead. He's looking right at you."

Trick Shot turned around. Across the room Beachhead and Cover Girl were watching them. Firewall slunk down further in her seat. Trick Shot cussed.

"Don't worry about it. You were playing pinochle all night." Low Light said.

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Sober up. I need to get back." Low Light said. "By the way you don't need coffee you need Gatorade and vitamins. It's the dehydration that gets to you. If I were you I would stick with Vodka or clear alcohol. It has less congener than bourbon or whiskey."

"Gee you sound like you have experience." Firewall grumbled. "Do you have to talk so loud?"

Low Light never spoke louder than a low tone.

"I've had my share." Was all he said. "Are you getting breakfast?" He asked.

"I never want to see food for as long as I live." Firewall said. She crossed her arms and put her head on the table.

Trick Shot just shook his head. It made his head spin. He looked a bit green. His coffee wasn't sitting right. "I think we're ready to go." He said.

"Do you have anything upstairs? I'm not coming back. We have a meeting with General Hawk in the morning."

Trick Shot looked even greener. "Don't remind me." He grumbled.

He put a twenty on the table and followed Low Light to the door.

Low Light lifted his left hand as he went to the door.

Beachhead was telling Cover Girl something.

Her eyes were as big as plates when he winked.

"Oh! My! God!"

End Chapter Five

Family Tradition

That Chapter specifically for Mama. The next chapters: onto the competition.

That was a fun chapter to write.

Sincerely, KSLycke


	6. Chapter 6

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in ten chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Six

What I Do Best

General Hawk was in his office. He was finishing a letter to PJ Knight. It was a roster of his best snipers. Knight was always interested in his snipers. The majority of the time Hawk ignored it. Those that were active duty signed a conflict of interest disclaimer. The ones that were retired were in the private sector. They were all loyal. It pissed PJ Knight off to no end. He was stuck with amateur circuit marksmen. They were the ones that could afford to spend on expensive equipment. They spent their time on the weekends shooting at targets. In those tournaments it was whoever had the best technology that won. And that usually meant the most money. PJ Knight wanted more. He wanted the real thing. More importantly he wanted Hawk's snipers.

It was under the guise of weapons testing. Hawk had no doubt it was lobbying by Knight Armament in DC that gave the official orders. The Knight KA 120 was still under review by Congress. That was the sniper rifle PJ Knight procured from M.A.R.S. in Sierra Gordo three months ago. It was taken apart, re-labeled, and packaged as a new weapon made for the military. It was a coup Hawk didn't want to be a part of. The alternative was having Destro and M.A.R.S. win the bid for the military contract. He couldn't allow that.

He looked over the list again. He sent Barrel Roll and Janack up first. They would be the first ones sacrificed. For Barrel Roll he chose Life Line to accompany. Each Joe would have an equal partner on the trip down to Florida. In Janack's place Hawk chose Cover Girl to go with her. She was the only woman on the list. She would need another woman to room with. Cover Girl was the easy choice. He had to think twice by sending Low Light and Trick Shot. They were his best. They would be unstoppable. They were the King's knights on his chess board. If he lost them PJ Knight would have a check mate. He rubbed his eyes. He would need a rook. That was his first player. He chose Beachhead to be his white rook. His fourth would be his eyes and ears. Beachhead never let him down.

For his last pawn he chose Ehrenstein. The law student was barely hanging on. He followed orders too closely. He didn't ask questions. In any other branch he would pass. General Hawk needed soldiers that could think on their own. Law told him as much. He would never be a lawyer if he went into court blind. He lacked confidence. This assignment was his last chance. He put his signature at the bottom. The next move was up to PJ Knight.

There was a knock on the door. It was Flint. They were ready for him in the situation room. They were all right on time. They stood up when he entered the room. Clayton Abernathy was from West Point. He was one of the few officers that saw combat. The Jugglers watched for him. They were the true players in this game. He commanded the most elite force in the world. His soldiers came from all branches of the military. He handpicked the best from the Navy, the Air force, the Marines, and the Army. In his hands they were dangerous. But it was their devotion to their commander that gave him real power. His soldiers followed him without fault. He could order three thousand or three hundred. Each man and woman would lay down their lives at his word. To them he was a threat.

Flint entered first. He started the meeting. Hawk's snipers were on their feet. He saw Low Light with his gear. He didn't doubt his best would pass his qualifications. Next to him Trick Shot didn't look his way. He stared at the movie screen instead. They were both sober. It was a good sign. Janack and Barrel Roll stood stiffly. It was their first competition. It would be Trick Shot's as well. Beachhead stood across the room from Cover Girl. He made a point not to look her way. He must think Hawk didn't know about their romance. He let it slide. If his drill sergeant had a reason to break the rules then it was worth the risk. He would probably marry the model. He deserved it.

General Hawk left Sharon Dixon on the morning of her last day. She made it a point to say that she was there to visit her son. The rest of the time she spent with Trick Shot until she left. She didn't answer his phone calls or text messages. She sent him a message stating that she was glad and appreciative that she met him. She knew that was the most they would have. While she enjoyed it she knew it wouldn't last. He denied it. He left phone calls to her cell phone that went unanswered. Sharon Dixon was in Missouri and he was in Utah. He hadn't heard from her since. That was two days ago. Trick Shot still looked pissed.

General Hawk waved them down. They took their seats. The auditorium lights dimmed. Behind him was a map of the United States.

"It's past Family Week and onto the annual sniper competition." General Hawk said. "You are here because you have been chosen to represent the GI Joe branch in six competitions across six states. The first qualifier will be held here on the Pit property. I'm sure each of you is familiar with the range."

They nodded as they looked. They would have home field advantage thanks to Low Light winning the competition last year. They smiled at him and started talking. General Hawk had to stand them down. Low Light didn't acknowledge it.

"Those of you who make it will move onto Cheyenne Mountain Colorado. That is the second leg of the competition. From there you will head to New Mexico at Kirtland. Don't let me down." He smiled. The third one was the most important one. "The next step is Fort Hood."

He heard a few Hoo yah's when they mentioned Texas. A lot of the Joe's spent their time there between Utah and Texas. They were getting more and more excited. This would be the best competition year yet. Of all the Joe's Low Light looked the most skeptical. He knew what was going on. He didn't have any other choice.

"You have a down time in Louisiana. Don't have too much fun on Canal and Bourbon Street." He looked at Low Light. "You have to get up early to make it to Fort Polk."

The crowd was getting louder. They were excited. General Hawk had to silence them down. "Beachhead" He said He looked at him over the podium. "You'll be glad to know you're going to be stopping in Mobile before you make it to the last stop in Florida." Hawk said.

"I expect nothing but all of you to make it to Port Canaveral and Titusville. Do me proud Joe's. You are dismissed." He saluted as they stood. They would be the ones proving themselves.

When they left Trick Shot was smiling. "Oh we are so going to blow those newbs out of the water. Can you believe it? Just give us the trophy now huh Low Light?" He said. He walked with him out to the range. "We got this."

He put his hand up for a high five but Low Light didn't reciprocate. He wasn't looking.

Low Light had his feet in front of him. Trick Shot had to stand on his left foot. "Nothing is guaranteed until the end." He said. "And you still out rank me. It's on you." He said.

Trick Shot didn't think about it before. He assumed Low Light would be the trigger man. This time the first leg would be his shot. Low Light was still a Private. He was his spotter not the shooter. He suddenly felt nervous.

"What?" He said. "You expect me to make the first shot?"

"It's on you Trick Shot. It has nothing to do with me." Low Light said. "I'm just your spotter. Look up. Here comes your competition."

Above them a dozen Huey's were making their way to the base. They set down on the airfield. The snipers came from all over the world. Each sniper had its own production. They were from Iraq and the military police stationed there. A woman was from Cuba. Of the next two were from Germany. They were trained by the United States. At the end was a Marine sniper from Paris Island. A camera crew followed him. He was a photogenic clean shaved sharp shooter that flashed a smile. He waved to the crowd. His jacket said he was an up and comer PJ Knight expected to finish at Titusville.

The production team followed him everywhere. He signed autographs.

Low Light and Trick Shot looked at each other.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Trick Shot said.

They didn't have time to talk before cameras were shoved in their faces. Low Light lifted his hand to block the glare. It was interfering with his goggles.

"Get that out of my face!" He said.

They had microphones on him before he knew it. They picked up on everything he said. He had his hands over his eyes by the time they stopped. A shadow showed up in his goggles. Low Light dropped his hand. He could see clearly now but he didn't want to believe it. He had to look again.

Willie Pete was walking towards him. He was in his sixties now but he was still trim. He had white hair and a salt and pepper mustache. He had the same half grin as Low Light. On his shoulder he held a Barrett M90. It was a bolt action sniper rifle from 1990 during the first Gulf War. He smiled. The cameras were watching him.

Willie Pete stood three feet away. Low Light almost punched him. The last time he saw him he could kill him. He still remembered. Willie Pete held out his hand. It hung in the air like an invitation. Low Light had to stop. His hand wavered. Pete Anderson and Cooper MacBride shook hands. It was the first time in twenty years.

When they met Low Light dropped his rifle. It was a station of honor. The man was past being legend and onto myth. His name was spoken only to a select few. He had more kills than anyone could count. It surpassed Low Light. He was Low Light's trainer. He spent five years with the man. He went simply by God. He taught him everything he knew. Outside of General Hawk he was the closest thing to a father figure Low Light had.

Their embrace was caught on film.

Low Light was just twenty two when God called on him. His commanders put him with him. He had the best eyes they saw in a long time. God took him under his wing. He was a hard student. He was stubborn and head strong. He had his own ideas. The scopes were all wrong. The barrels were too short. He could hit a target without thinking about it. He was bored. God tried to rein him in.

The kid wouldn't have it. He butt heads with him constantly. He wanted to do more. It was 1995. Low Light was past the deserts of Iraq and Kuwait. They were standard operations. It didn't interest him. Saddam Hussein and his regime were under control. It was South America that was the hot bed. The CIA was popular in Bolivia at the time. The rebels were strong. The United States was caught in a civil war that involved drug dealers and fundamentalists.

Low Light was in his element.

To make up for it God took him to the hardest areas he knew. That was where Low Light made his first kill.

It was past targets and onto kills. Low Light had to learn somehow. That night after his first shot God took him to a bar in Nicaragua. No one spoke English. He fed him whiskey and beer until Low Light couldn't remember. He pushed him off onto some dark haired bar whore that wouldn't ask questions. That was the start. Low Light wouldn't end it until twenty years later. It was Low Light and Trick Shot now. God watched him with the kid. Even after twenty years he still had affection for his student. He was doing well. He was the best. He was the one to beat.

God watched. It looked like Low Light had a student of his own.

"Mac." He said

Of anyone God was the only one that called him 'Mac'." It was s shortened version of MacBride. He smiled.

"It's good to see you. I've heard things about you. It looks like you've been doing pretty well." God said. "They say you're the one to beat."

After all of this time God was still proud of his student. He was more proud of Low Light than he was of the hot shot he was following around with the production crew. The kid had a talent but he was no sniper that God knew of. He only did it because the network wanted him to. He looked at Low Light and Trick Shot. In another twenty years it would be them.

God heard the whistle of the directors. The hot shot was posing in front of the firing range. He had a Knight KA 120 over his shoulder. He was looking in the camera and espousing the accolades of the new rifle. It was picture perfect but it was hallow.

God turned around.

End Chapter Six

What I Do Best


	7. Chapter 7

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in ten chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Seven

Rhinestone Cowboy

1300

The crew had their tents set up when Low Light and Trick Shot entered the range. It seemed less like a competition than a corporate sponsored event. Everywhere they looked a tent was giving out free merchandise. There were T-shirts with Knight Armament embroidered on them. The logo was a knight in armor with a joust on top of a horse. On the back was First Annual Sniper Competition 2013. It had a list of all of the bases and dates they would be there. They were handing out beer cozies, samples of gun oil and blue plastic ear plugs wrapped in individual packages. At the side people were standing in line to get the hot shots autograph. He smiled for pictures with cell phones and answered questions. God was sitting behind him in a lawn chair. He looked bored.

Low Light had to find out who he was. He stopped a greenshirt along the way.

"What's everyone standing in line for?"

"You don't know who that is?" The greenshirt said.

Low Light shook his head. "That's Trevor Jack. You know the host of Guns Guts and Glory. Every week he goes around the country explaining different types of guns and uses. They started out in the middle ages. Now he's up to the Wild West." The greenshirt said.

"I must have missed that episode." Low Light mumbled.

"It's on the Military History Channel on Mondays. We'll probably be on tonight."

Low Light worked nights. He had every reason not to know who Trevor Jack was. He didn't even think that was his real name. He watched the greenshirt walk away to wait his turn. The line was getting longer the closer the competition came.

Trick Shot walked up to him. He had two T-shirts in his hands. He passed one to Low Light. He shrugged. "They were free. If anything you can use it to wash your bike with it." He explained. His face was orange looking. His hair was spiked with product. Low Light stared.

"What the hell is that on your face?" He said.

"Oh they put you in hair and makeup when you register. It's for the camera." He said. "They're going to film the whole competition all the way to Florida. It's for the Military Channel. We're going to be on TV. Can you believe that? They'll show it on the bases." He said. He looked excited enough "Even in Afghanistan."

Low Light laughed. "I'm not wearing makeup." He said.

He crossed his arms. Someone took a picture of them. "Jesus they're everywhere." He grumbled.

He passed Janack walking away from the registration booth. She was barely recognizable. Her eyebrows were tweezed. Her hair was smoothed out and she had makeup on. She passed by him. She was pretty. Low Light looked twice. Then he grunted. He must be really getting desperate if he was looking at Janack that way. Thankfully she didn't notice.

"I feel like I have been beat with a crayon." She said. She sounded embarrassed. The camera crew took shots of her and the Cuban woman.

Janack wasn't as bad as Cover Girl though. When the producers found out who she was it was non-stop. She was dressed in military basics with camouflage pants and an olive green T-shirt. Her dog tags hung around her neck to her chest. Without makeup on and in military camo she was still a natural beauty. They were getting pictures of her with Trevor Jack. She had the KA 120 in her hands. It was her nightmare revisited. The crew was shouting for different poses, how did she like military life, what was it like being one of the few women on a base full of men, was she harassed, did she ever want to give it up, she could still make good money, etc and on and on. Beachhead fumed. He was talking with General Hawk and pointing her way. Hawk seemed to nod the more Beachhead waved at them. Finally he put up a hand to stop him and walked over. Beachhead stayed behind.

"Alright that's enough. My soldier is working." Hawk said. He more or less pushed his way through the crowd to Cover Girl. He separated her and Trevor Jack. She looked relieved. "Let's go Krieger." He ordered.

If Cover Girl learned anything from her modeling days it was how to pose and smile even when she didn't feel like it. This time she gave her most apologetic looking smile as she saluted. It was as if she was saying 'I'd love to hang around boys but duty calls'. She shrugged and waved. The cameras ate it up.

"Yes Sir." She said.

Beachhead tossed her a bomber jacket.

Low Light was next. He signed so many waivers and insurance papers promising not to sue the Military History Channel that he thought his trigger finger would seize up. He had to shake it out. It could make Ehrenstein's head spin. When it was his turn Low Light registered and was taken in the back where a makeup lady was waiting. She pulled his cap off and ran her fingers through his hair. It was like she couldn't tell what to do with it. She went to reach for his goggles before he stopped her.

"Don't. I have to take them off." He said.

There was the familiar vertigo and then the sun blared in his eyes. He squeezed them shut a few times before they adjusted. The makeup lady was still waiting. She had long slender fingers and pale skin. Her hair was black and shaved on one side. She had blue and purple streaks with an eyebrow ring. If Low Light didn't know better she looked like a Dreadnok. She had silver eye shadow on beneath red framed reading glasses. He winced. If the Punk Princess was in charge no wonder Janack felt like a walking crayon. She looked him over in the mirror. She was trying to make up her mind. Her smock said 'Mary'. She rubbed her fingers in his hair again.

"You know you have beautiful eyes Cooper. You shouldn't wear those goggles so much." Mary said. When she talked Low Light could see a tongue ring. "You should show them off."

"Yeah I get that all the time." Low Light mumbled. "And how did you know my name?" He asked.

Mary reached over and held up the roster. She had check marks next to the registered snipers. "I like to get to know the people I'm going to be working with for the next three weeks. Do you normally wear your hair like this or do you get it cut?" She was lifting curls and pulling them out of his face. "You always wear that cap?" She asked. "You should get it trimmed before filming starts. You would look better with a bit more sideburns. I really need to cover up those dark circles too. I can see why you wear goggles."

"I'm a soldier. I'm not that interested in looking pretty for the camera." Low Light snorted.

"Yeah I get that all the time too." Mary said. She smiled. She bent his head down and went to work.

When he left his hair was trimmed and his skin was smoothed out. It felt like his face was suffocating. As soon as he could he put his cap and goggles back on. It was almost time for the competition. They were rounded up for a group photo. Then they were photographed individually. There were three. One was a head shot, the other was a body shot and the last one was in profile. By the time they were ready they had been filmed, photographed, registered and groomed. It wasn't until later that they understood why. Each of them except for Trevor Jack shuffled uncomfortably. It was a new experience for them. Low Light made his way where Trick Shot, Barrel Roll, and Janack were waiting. They were a laughing at each other. Barrel Roll whistled at Janack. That earned him a punch in the arm. They were all nervous to be on TV.

The two Germans were first. It was a simple leg. Points were given and deducted based on distance and accuracy. There were cameras set up at each target to film the hits. God stood with Trevor Jack. They both had binoculars on. The sniper and his spotter passed easily up until twelve hundred yards. They hit but the accuracy was off. They argued something in German at each other. The sniper didn't look happy. Low Light could tell just by looking at them that they were a dysfunctional team. There was a power struggle going on. He gave them two legs.

The Iraqi MP was out in the first leg. He was good but he was only as good as his equipment. His sniping rifle couldn't make the distance. He shook hands with them as he left.

The producers put Janack and the Cuban together. Then they put Barrel Roll and Blackout against each other. The two women he could understand although Janack could out-shoot most of the men Low Light knew. She gave him a run for his money. The Cuban glared at her. Janack didn't let it faze her. In the end they both made fifteen hundred yards with Janack adding more points for accuracy. They were at the max end for distance. Low Light could push the KA 120 past two. So could Trick Shot. It was now up to Barrel Roll. Just as he said Blackout was there. He also had the Knight Armament rifle. He smirked at his brother. They didn't have spotters. They used their own scopes and judgment. Blackout

set the bar at a thousand yards. He enjoyed teasing his brother. He grinned the entire competition. Everyone kept a close eye on him. The Cobra sniper was as good as Barrel Roll. He knew his limits. Then he would go one past. They were given the same score.

"See you in Cheyenne brother!" He said. He whistled when he walked away.

It was now Trick Shot against Trevor Jack. Low Light wanted to see how good the TV star was. Shipwreck said there was an up and coming hot shot. He would be Trick Shot's real competition. The rest Low Light knew he could beat. He watched the sniper walk up. He looked like a Marine. His hair was close cropped but he had a two to three day growth of beard. The producers wanted it that way. He had brown hair and blue eyes. His chin had a cleft. He was close to six feet tall but thinner than what a soldier should be. That was for the camera. They dressed him in desert camo with a shirt that looked one size too small. It wasn't regulation gear. He carried his own case as the camera crew followed him. Everyone stopped to watch.

But it was God Low Light was interested in.

He also carried his own case. In his was a spotting scope. He had various scopes based upon wind and light conditions, shadow or dark. He had scopes for close range and medium range. He also had scopes for long range and cold, for wet conditions and sand. It was his job to pick out the best. It was like golf. The player was only as good as his caddy. The caddy had to know which equipment to use, when to use it, and how to use it. He was the brains behind the operation. God knew it too. Trevor Jack came pre-packaged and made for TV. There was no doubt the Marine was a skilled marksman. But it was God that made him great. The competition now wasn't only just between Trick Shot and Trevor Jack. It was between Low Light versus God.

And he chose the same scope Low Light would use.

"Shit."

"Yeah. Shit." Trick Shot said. He crossed his arms.

They were being filmed.

End Chapter Seven

Rhinestone Cowboy


	8. Chapter 8

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in ten chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Eight

Big Iron

1700

Trevor Jack positioned himself on the ground. He was using the new KA 120. Low Light was the one that test fired it. He knew the rifles capabilities. The sniping rifle could clear two thousand yards in the right hands. Beside him Pete Anderson aka God aka Willie Pete set up his spotting scope. They were whispering to each other. The cameras focused on Trevor Jack. God worked strictly behind the scenes. He didn't want to be known. Low Light watched him pull out the long range. They were going for eighteen hundred yards and above. It would look beautiful on TV. Trevor Jack listened to God. He seemed unsure of himself for a moment. God nodded at him. He held up his hand. He had two fingers in the air. The cameras came in closer. The TV star wiped his forehead on his sleeve. He looked into the scope. At two minutes was the given prep time. Anything after would be a forfeit. He was close to ninety seconds. Low Light didn't know if they were stalling on purpose or only adding dramatic effect for the camera. At ninety-two seconds he heard God call for time.

Everyone groaned. Next to him Trick Shot said "Come _on_."

The sniper walked away with God. In the background he could see God talking to him. He was speaking quietly and looking their way. Trevor Jack listened and shook his head. They had one minute of time-out to use. Trevor Jack wiped his hands on his pants. An assistant came over with talc. They freshened him up. He took a drink of water out of a glass bottle. The shot had to be taken within twenty-eight seconds. God clapped him on the back.

This time when they set up God put up one finger. Then he put up a fist and a three. They were going for eighteen hundred yards. It was the winning shot. It was one mile. The other snipers haven't reached that far. Trevor Jack might be a TV star but he was also a Marine Sharpshooter.

Trick Shot grinned. "Pussy." He said.

"Don't get cocky kid. You're up next." Low Light said. He was busy watching God. He had to plan his own strategy if they were going to beat them. He had to make sure Trick Shot was up to it. Cameras were watching them. They knew their team was the real competition. They had to know Low Light's history with God. It was a matter of public record. Low Light wouldn't doubt that they did it on purpose. He kept his face neutral.

The actual shot was quiet.

God said "Send it."

Trevor Jack took the shot.

Even before it reached the target Low Light could tell by God that it was a miss. He spent too many years with him not to be able to judge his expression. The target stood at eighteen hundred yards with the outer rim of black lines pierced by a bullet. It was a hit but it was inaccurate. He had one more shot to take. Trevor Jack bent his head to the ground. He took a deep breath. God set up his scope once again. He made the same hand signals in the air. This time when God said 'Send it' Trevor Jack hit the inside perimeter of the target. Everyone clapped and cheered. According to them they were the team to beat. Low Light and Trick Shot was the dark horse. He could imagine the betting pool.

He took Trick Shot aside. He crossed his throat to the cameras. They turned around to film Trevor Jack. He was talking into the microphone. Low Light turned around to Trick Shot.

He put his hands on his shoulders. "Look at me." He said. Trick Shot looked up and they locked eyes.

"To win this thing we're going to have to go for two thousand. They're not expected that."

"Two thousand! Are you crazy? I can't make that shot!" He hissed. "That's over a mile away."

Low Light shook his shoulders. "Yes. You can. Remember Sierra Gordo." He said.

Trick Shot looked over at Trevor Jack. "I didn't make that shot Low Light. You know that." He said. His voice was kept down. He leaned in closer just in case. "It was you." He whispered.

"That's not what people believe. If they believe it was you then it's the same as the truth." Low Light said. He dropped his hands. "You saw the shot before I did. If you can see it you can shoot it. Listen to me. This whole thing is riding on it. I won't steer you wrong. When I give you the specs take aim and Send. The. Bullet. You can do it. I know you can. Do you trust me?"

Trick Shot swallowed. "Of course I trust you Low Light." He said.

"Good then you're half way there. It's more than what I had." Low Light said. He looked at Pete Anderson. He never trusted God. Not after what he did. He looked back at Trick Shot. The kid had faith in him. He looked up to him. He didn't want his trust and faith. Right now he didn't have a choice. The kid had the best eyes out of the competitors. Low Light needed them. He wanted revenge. That meant two thousand yards. And that meant the MB-SF #17 2-b.

"Let's go." He said.

That's when it was a surprise that the target was shortened. Trevor Jack had a target of twenty four inches by twelve inches. When Low Light and Trick Shot set up the target was reduced to twelve inches by six inches. Trick Shot protested. He didn't have the option except to talk to the producers. Low Light backed him up. They were trying to explain that since Trevor Jack hit the outer edge of the target the winning shot would have to be taken from the inside. It was an unfair advantage. Trick Shot seethed. They would do anything to watch their super star succeed. He got in their face. He yelled. He made his point. He cussed. But when he went to jab his finger at Trevor Jack Low Light held him back. He walked him away. Trick Shot was pacing. He jerked his arm away. Of course it was all caught on film.

Low Light had to push him in the chest to get him to calm down. "Did you see that shit? They're setting us up Low Light! They don't want us to win! I know what's going on. They want their fucking super star to win. There's no way I can make that and they know it! It's over a mile away! No one can make that! Well except for you. I'm just going to forfeit. YOU take the shots. This is BULLSHIT!"

Low Light listened patiently. When Trick Shot was finished he started. He looked at the kid. He was watching him as if he were waiting on advice. It was the same trust and faith.

"Are you finished?" Low Light said.

Trick Shot nodded but he still paced. He wanted a drink.

"Then you're going to make that shot and I'm going to show you why." Low Light said. He eased up his goggles until the setting sun hit his face. The competition would end at 6 PM. They had half an hour until night time. He clenched his jaw and held his eyes shut. He handed them over to Trick shot. "Take these." He said.

"Low Light you can't see without these!" Trick Shot said.

"Just do it dammit! Quit arguing with me and do it!" He said. He had his eyes shut. In his hand were his goggles. His eyes watered. He wiped them away.

"O-Okay." Trick Shot said.

Low Light had to be guided to his position. He couldn't see. The sun was in his eyes. He was used to night vision. It cut to his brain like pain. He saw a shadow of Trick Shot. To his side were glaring cameras. He shook his head. God was watching him. He had a halo of sunlight behind him. He closed his eyes again. Trick Shot was in position. He was looking over. Low Light was his spotter. Without his eyes he couldn't make the shot. He called time.

"What are you doing?" Low Light growled.

"I'm calling for time! Look at you! You can't even see!" Trick Shot said.

"It doesn't matter if I can see. It matters if _you _can see. Get the fuck down. I know what I'm doing." He bent over and wiped his face. It hurt to see the sun.

"Trust." Low Light said.

"Trust." Trick Shot said.

They took their positions. After one minute of time they had two minutes to make the shot. Low Light put the spotting scope on UV. It helped with the glare. Trick Shot had his goggles on. He didn't worry that the sniper could see even in high light conditions. He kicked the bag away. He went to his right hip instead. That was where he kept the MB-SF #17 2-b. He called it. It took thirty seconds of their time for Low Light to set it up. It had to be calibrated. Once it was two thousand yards became one thousand. Trick Shot inhaled. Low Light knew what he was seeing. It was as if the target were set ten times closer than normal. There was no way he would miss. Low Light raised a hand in the air. The cameras followed him. In his hand he held up two fingers. God was watching. They had forty five seconds left.

"Send it." Low Light said.

Trick Shot inhaled and pulled the trigger.

The shot was dead center at one and a quarter mile on a twelve by six target.

There were cheers from the Joe's as they stood up. Trick Shot caught his breath. The camera crews were busy reviewing the shot in their cameras. They confirmed it. Trevor Jack walked up and shook Trick Shot's hand.

"That was one helluva shot." He said. The cameras were following him. "I'm impressed Private Dixon."

He turned to the cameras. He stood in front of the range. In the background was the desert. The mountains stood to the West.

"I am here on the GI Joe base where the beginning leg of the sniper competition is held. To the distance are the targets. The KA 120 is a Knight Armament sniping rifle used for distances up to and including a mile. To my right is Private Dixon. Tell me Private how do you like the new Knight Armament weapons system?" He asked.

Trick Shot looked like a deer in the headlights. "Uh. Yeah. I mean it's a good rifle. I use it." He shrugged. His face was plain in the camera. He didn't know what else to say. He felt stupid now.

"And can you say that it can be used past one mile?" Trevor Jack asked. He was digging for questions. The kid stared at them blankly.

"Ummm, that's what I took. It was two thousand yards." He said.

The cameras looked away from him and back to Trevor Jack. The kid was boring. He would be bad for ratings. Trick Shot was oblivious. He waved to the camera and said 'Hi mom'. He was smiling wide. The cameras weren't looking at him. He didn't notice. On the ground past camera view Low Light was disassembling his rifle. He put the scope back on his hip.

Trevor Jack was being filmed in front of the range. "The GI Joe team. The best of the best. When you use the best of the best use Knight Armament." Trevor Jack held the KA 120 in the air making a loud ka-clack as the ammo was pushed into the chamber. His teeth were unnaturally white when he smiled.

"And that's a cut!" The director whistled.

Trevor Jack handed off his rifle to a flunky. They were patting him on the back as he walked to his trailer. God didn't follow. He looked at Low Light instead.

God walked up to him. The sun was setting. Low Light could see. His grey eyes followed every step he took.

"That was mighty impressive there son." God said.

"I'm not your son Pete." Low Light said. He was finished putting the scope away and packing Trick Shot's sniping rifle. He stood up. They were face to face.

"Yeah we both know about your real old man." God said.

Low Light turned. He wished he had his goggles on. The anger on his face had to show. He took a step forward until he could look him in the eyes. Grey eyes and blue eyes held.

"You don't know Pete. You never knew. You didn't even bother." Low Light said.

He turned around. At the tent the Joes were congratulating Trick Shot. He grabbed his case. "You weren't there." He said.

He walked towards the crowd.

"Tell me Mac! How are those nightmares of yours?" God said.

Low Light had his back turned. He looked over his shoulder.

It was dusk. He had his case in his hand. He didn't have his goggles on.

Behind him he heard God.

"I can make them stop." He said.

Low Light stood still.

"No one can God."

He walked away.

End Chapter Eight

Big Iron

by Marty Robbins

To the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day  
Hardly spoke to folks around him didn't have too much to say  
No one dared to ask his business no one dared to make a slip  
for the stranger there among them had a big iron on his hip  
Big iron on his hip

It was over in a moment and the folks had gathered round  
There before them lay the body of the outlaw on the ground  
Oh he might have went on living but he made one fatal slip  
When he tried to match the ranger with the big iron on his hip  
Big iron on his hip


	9. Chapter 9

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in ten chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Nine

There Stands the Glass

2000

Low Light and Trick Shot didn't have time to relax before excited voices pulled them into the rec room. Beachhead, Cover Girl, Ehrenstein, Lifeline, Janack, and Barrel Roll were waiting. The lights were turned down. Low Light was glad for it. Trick Shot handed him his goggles. He put them on. He didn't know what was going on. He followed Trick Shot to the front of the room. Ahead of him was a movie screen. It was empty. There were pats on his shoulder. Ehrenstein was smiling. Lifeline gave him thumbs up. Dial Tone came in the room with a thumb drive in his hand. There were whistles and claps when he put it into the projector. How he did it Low Light didn't want to know. The media man had the advance copy of 'American Sniper' from the Military History Channel. The lights were turned off. People were talking. They wanted to see themselves on the screen.

The film flickered white before it began. The fade was a black hole before Trevor Jack came on. He was walking in slow motion with his case in his hand. The desert was behind him. Cut in between was Cover Girl holding a sniper rifle. Her breasts were out. Her stomach was in. Her dog tags emphasized her curves. Her bra lines were clearly visible. She smiled at the camera. There was a still shot of Trevor Jack with Cover Girl behind him in profile. They made sure to show the KA 120 in her hands.

The screen went black again.

A narrator started.

"This season on American Sniper." It said.

Before the screen the Germans and the Iraqi Military Police stood pointing their rifles. They were standing. It wasn't a standard shot. It was made for the camera. The Germans stood back to back with the Iraqi soldier in the middle. They were blond haired and blue eyed. The Iraqi MP was dark haired wearing a Jellabiyah. It contrasted with the Germans.

The screen went black again.

"Germany versus Iraq." The narrator said. Their faces came flying through into the camera.

The camera faded until it was Janack and the Cuban woman. They had their foreheads together with a fire of explosives behind them. Janack had CGI'd breasts that were larger than what she was in real life. They both held their weapons.

"America versus Cuba." The voice said.

The screen faded until the faces of Barrel Roll and Blackout came into view. Blackout was grinning. He emptied a chamber on the ground. Barrel Roll looked over.

"Brother versus Brother." The screen said.

They showed Trevor Jack walking up. Then they showed Trick Shot. The narrator stopped. Low Light was walking with his goggles and cap on. They edited it to him shaking hands with God.

It showed Trevor Jack.

"The natural." It said.

Then it showed Trick Shot.

"The kid."

God was posed with his arms crossed.

"The veteran." It said.

They showed Low Light. He didn't have his goggles on. He was carrying a case.

"The Maverick."

All four of them were posed with God and Low Light in the back with their arms crossed. In the front Trick Shot and Trevor Jack stood in front of them. It was a poster board. God stood behind Trevor Jack with his arms crossed and Low Light stood behind Trick shot in the same way.

The camera faded.

An orange fire exploded. Trevor Jack walked away from it. In front were the words 'American Sniper'.

Bullets shot across the black.

There was the flicker of the three two one by the time Dial Tone stopped it.

The room was humming. They were all talking.

"I do not believe my breasts are as big as they show." Janack said. She looked down at her chest.

"Are you kidding? Did you see mine?" Cover Girl said. "I could use them as an emergency flotation device! And since when am I interested in that superstar? It was only ten minutes!"

"That's what she said." Trick Shot snorted.

Beachhead ignored it. "I gave you a jacket!" He yelled. "Didn't you even look? If it wasn't for me Hawk would have never come to your rescue!"

Cover Girl rolled her eyes. "I don't need your rescue Beachhead! It's all the same. Nothing has changed. Sex still sells. Now do you see why I left it?" She said.

"They were exploiting you! A Joe is not a sex object! Wear some more clothes next time!" He said. "You are a soldier!"

"Hey there's still more." Dial Tone said.

The room quieted. He pulled the thumb drive out of the computer and put the second one in. It took a while for him to access it. They had it encrypted. When the Joe's saw it they knew why. The start of the next reel began with Trevor Jack. They edited the footage to his advantage. In it Trick Shot was cussing. The second words were bleeped out. The film ended with him jabbing his finger at Trevor Jack and Low Light pulling him away. The camera followed until Trick Shot jerked his arm. He was with Low Light. The camera pointed down. It was a hazy film with even less sound.

They used subtitles.

"Are you crazy? I can't make that shot!" The TV Trick Shot said. The cameras looked like they were running to get it filmed.

"Just do it dammit! Quit arguing with me and do it!"

The cameras focused on their faces. The soundtracks played piano and drum music. It was cued to show Low Light cutting his hand across his throat. He put a hand up to the camera.

"Get that out of my face!" Low Light said.

The film went black again.

When it appeared it showed Trevor Jack. They didn't show God but they showed Trick Shot. He was lying on his belly. A slow motion reel showed the bullet missing the outer perimeter of the target. The camera view changed until the sniper they showed hung his head on the dirt. It appeared like it was Trick Shot. The next shot was picked up dead center as if it were Trevor Jack. The TV Trevor Jack stood up to shake hands with Trick Shot. That was all they showed.

The camera faded.

God's face came into view.

The camera went black again.

Low Light's face came on the screen.

The TV was dark.

Then the film started again.

It showed a group photo of the snipers.

The voice spoke.

"Who. Will. Be. The. Next. American Sniper."

There were explosions again with the target. An Uzi sounded as bullets were shot into the paper.

The movie screen ended in white.

For a while afterwards the rec room was silent.

"That's not how it went." Trick Shot whispered.

"Son. Of. A. Bitch."

Low Light was up before anyone noticed. By the time the lights were on he was at the door. It slammed behind him. Trick Shot and Beachhead went after him. Cover Girl, Ehrenstein, Barrel Roll and Lifeline watched. He was near the parking lot when Beachhead caught up to him. A hundred yards away the production team had RV's set up on base. God was parked in a lawn chair beneath an awning smoking a cigar. His M90 was leaned against the camper. There was a cooler at his side. He was grilling steaks and reading a newspaper. He had glasses on.

Low Light turned around. "Stay out of this Beach." He said. He lifted his chin to Trick Shot. "You too Dixon."

Beachhead reached his shoulder. "I know what you're going to do Cooper. You're making a mistake." He said.

"Then it _my _fucking mistake to make! Quit acting like my Priest all the time Beach!" He yelled.

Beachhead raised his hands. He stepped back. "I'm not acting like your Priest. I'm acting like your friend." He said.

Low Light turned around. He didn't want to deal with Beachhead or Trick Shot right now. He needed to talk to God. He stalked off.

Behind him Trick Shot talked with Beachhead. He nodded at something he said and followed Low Light.

God stood up when Low Light walked up. He smiled and held out his hand. Low Light went for a punch. God slapped him on the cheek. It stung. His face was red with a palm print. He held his hand up to it. He looked shocked that God would actually hit him. More he was shocked he went to hit his old mentor. Trick Shot inhaled.

"Stop that Mac." God said. "Calm the fuck down before you do anything else. Isn't that what I always told you?" He said.

He didn't seem that surprised. He sat back on his lawn chair. "Is it still JD and Budweiser?" He said.

He reached into the cooler and pulled out two. One he handed to Low Light. The next he tossed to Trick Shot. It was his reflexes that stopped it from hitting the ground. Trick Shot stood there uncomfortably behind the two men. He didn't know their history but by the looks of it that wasn't good. God got up and put two more lawn chairs down. He had a mini charcoal grill he was making steak and grilled vegetables on. The sparks jumped against the orange of the setting sun. Low Light could feel the heat coming off of it.

"Sit down. I'll put a couple more steaks on the grill." God went into his RV to get the steaks.

Low Light did exactly as he was told for once. He sat down. Trick Shot pulled up a chair across from them. It was the first time he saw Low Light have anything but a Sprite or Dr Pepper in his hand. The rest was coffee and water. He leaned over to God's chair. In the given drink rest was a silver flask. He knew it would be there. He uncapped it and took a swallow. It burned itself on its way down. He leaned back and opened his beer.

If anyone could describe the feeling it would compare to a fish being thrown into water. The alcohol hit his blood stream like a shock. All of the voices and hums in his head were quiet. They breathed a sigh of relief. It was better than any pill, woman, or prostitute could match up to. The effect was almost instant after so long. His muscles unknotted that he didn't realize he was so tense. He closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them again God was sitting down poking at a chunk of meat.

His face was half in shadow by the grill. "It's good to see you again Mac." He said.

"What are you doing here Pete? I mean what are you really doing here?" Low Light asked. "You're no TV gunslinger. That kid you're following isn't that good. You always only took the best. So what are you doing?" He said.

"Eh you know Mac. An old man needs a hobby when his eyes start going bad." God said. He flipped the steaks over and sat back. "Once it's in your system you never give it up. I spent some time visiting the grandkids but they don't need their grandpa around all the time. It's the only thing I know how to do."

He shrugged. "Knight pays the bills. The money's not bad. And I get to travel around. It's almost like being back again. Only no one's shooting at me this time. Are you going to introduce me to your kid?" He pointed with his can at Trick Shot.

Low Light smiled and shook his head. He snorted. "He's not my kid Pete."

"Bullshit. They all are once you take them in. What's your name kid?"

Low Light took a drink. He grinned. "Dixon meet God." He said.

Trick Shot blinked. His face was vacant. They could watch the dawning recognition cross his face. His eyes flew open when he stood on his feet.

"Holy Shit! I mean Holy! I can't believe it! I mean! You're God! You're like the original!" He was all at once flustered and excited. "Low Light do you know who that is? Oh my God!"

"That's what they call me." God said. He smiled.

"It is…..I mean wow….it is such an honor Sir." Trick Shot said. He was shaking his hand and not letting go.

"Sit down kid. Drink your beer. You're shaking my hand off. I still need it." God said.

Trick Shot did exactly as he was told for once. "Oh my God." He said.

"Don't worry about it kid." God said. He thumbed over to Low Light. "This one here could argue with the devil himself and win. The stubborn little bastard. I never met a kid with that wide of a streak in him. The truth is he could've been tabbed at two years but with all of his bitching I had to make it five. He never did learn a lesson well the first time."

That made Trick Shot and Low Light laugh.

"Yeah when Mac was sent up I thought the Colonel made a mistake. He was the skinniest kid I saw. I didn't know to train him or feed him. He had the eyes for it though. He was a real natural. But it takes more than good eyes to be a sniper." He looked at Trick Shot. Low Light was steadily drinking his beer. He reached for a second. "At night he was the best. He could tell shadows from targets long before NV."

"He still is." Trick Shot said.

God leaned forward. "Don't sell yourself short kid. I saw you on the grid today. You got real potential. You got what it takes." He said. "Between you and me? You can cram that Trevor Jack where the sun don't shine. I'll be seeing you in Cheyenne. Steaks are done."

For the rest of dinner no one spoke. The steaks were tender. The vegetables were seasoned. Low Light enjoyed six beers and three shots. God was keeping a close eye on him. Trick Shot was flushed and sleepy. He wanted to find out more. It was almost ten o'clock. They had to be on the road by eight. The production vehicles had already left. They were on their way to set up the next location. Colorado was a fourteen hour drive. It would take them the day and most of the night to reach Cheyenne. Low Light didn't look like he was going anywhere.

"Go on Dixon. I know how to take care of Mac." God said. Low Light was slumping. When he started to mumble someone would have to be there.

Trick Shot hesitated. He looked unsure whether to stay or not. "Are you sure?" He said. "I don't know. He's supposed to stay with me."

"Yeah he's not going to be feeling any pain tonight. Get some sleep." He said. "You'll need those eyes in the morning. Mac'll be fine."

"Yes Sir. It was an honor to meet you." Trick Shot said.

When the kid left God looked over at Low Light. His head was on his chest. He would be sound asleep in an hour. Then maybe he would stay asleep. He took out his cell phone.

"Hey PJ. It's Pete."

"Yeah he's good. Damn good."

"No I saw them."

"The kid's too loyal. He's never gonna let him out of his site."

"Because I know!"

"The same weaknesses. He's passed out now."

"Uh huh. Which one?"

"You can't have both. I guarantee it. Give me some time with Mac. I know the kid. He'll run to papa."

"With the KA 120 and that scope yeah."

"No. Billions. With a 'B'. It's grade-A."

"Give me a chance to work on it dammit."

"I'll give you a call in Cheyenne and not sooner."

"OK Bye."

God hung up the phone.

He looked over at Low Light and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on Mac. You won't have nightmares tonight." He said.

End Chapter Nine

There Stands The Glass


	10. Chapter 10

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in ten chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound

0830

Low Light woke up with his whole body shaking. There was a hum in his ears. It took him a while to realize he was in bed. No, he was in _a_ bed. It wasn't his. He couldn't see. The shades were drawn. He didn't have his goggles. He didn't have his cap. His pants and boots were gone. The thin blanket was rough. The back of his neck was wet. There was a dent in the bed next to him. It smelled like clay and talc. There was someone with him. There was some-she next to him. She had long slender fingers that were dangerously low on his stomach. If they went any further he would have to pay her a twenty. He cussed. He didn't remember any of it. He took a mental inventory. His body still felt the same. He knew that much. He opened his eyes.

The room was dark. Low Light rubbed his face. He took the chance and looked over. It was Mary. But it wasn't the Punk Princess Mary he met the day before. Her hair was cut into a short blond pixie. It was almost as short as his. Her eyebrow ring was missing. What he could feel she was all long arms and long legs. Her skin was smooth and white. All of it. He could tell by the way she had her thigh on his hip. She was asleep. Without her makeup on she looked older than what he initially thought. He was glad for that much. He lifted her hand. She sighed and turned over. Now that he was awake he knew why he couldn't see. The room didn't have a window. It had a back pull out hatch that took up the length of the back of the RV. He was on the highway heading towards Cheyenne Mountain. He gathered his pants and boots and walked to the front.

The RV was forty two feet long. There was only the back bedroom. It was separated by a bi-fold door. The living area had a kitchenette with a two burner stove and a small refrigerator. The table folded down to make another bed with the seats. God was in the captain's chair. He had a stainless steel coffee mug on the arm rest. He was listening to a CB. He was staying in touch with the production crew. Low Light zipped and buckled his belt. God looked in the rearview.

"Christ Alive if you don't look like the poster child for a 1-800 number." He grinned. "There's some juice in the fridge. The good stuff I keep under the sink." He said.

Low Light grunted. His head was spinning. He had to steady himself when the RV took a turn. He pulled out a Naked. He only took two swallows. He went to the sink. The rest he filled with two fingers of Gilby's. He put the cap back on. He shook it to mix it. He yawned and scratched his arm. He sat next to God in the passenger seat. The arm rest swung out. It had its own cup holder.

"You know the best cure for a hangover is Mac?" God asked.

Low Light snorted. It was an old joke of theirs. "To never sober up." He said. He took another drink. "Where are we?"

God tapped the GPS. "We're just outside of Thompson. We'll get there by ten PM." He said.

"Shit my rifle." He said. He rubbed his jaw. He was rough this morning.

"It's in the back." God said.

"I forgot my bike." Low Light said.

"It's on the trailer next to mine. See I take care of you Mac. Everything is taken care of. Would I steer you wrong?" He said.

Low Light didn't answer. He looked towards the back bedroom. "Did I…?

"What the dirty boogie?" He laughed. He shook his head. "No you can thank your whiskey dick for that. You were too far gone. You couldn't have saluted General Hawk himself if you had to. Consider it a gift from me to you for old time's sake. Mary's good for it if you want to take her for a spin though." He said.

Low Light winced. "No thanks. Next time keep it for yourself Pete." He said.

"Mary's a good girl but she's a bit young for me." God said. "She's perfect for you though"

"She's not my type." Low Light mumbled.

God looked over and laughed. "Are you kidding me Mac? Why I remember the days when you could drink all night, fuck all day, and still be ready for the shot come sun down. I can't count how many back country bars I had to pull you out of. Do you remember that time in Maseru?" He grinned. "You didn't see the light of day for three days," He laughed. "I have to say that sweet little mulatto girl really did a number on you. She's probably still walking funny."

"Don't remind me Pete." Low Light mumbled.

God looked over. He patted his arm. "Cheer up kid! The Terrible Twosome ride again!' He said.

Low Light had nothing to say after that. For the next ten miles he was quiet. Now that he had juice in his system he started to relax. There was just one more question he had to ask. He dreaded it.

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Pete."

"Yeah" God said.

"What about the other thing." He said. He lifted his hand. He didn't want to know but he needed to know.

"What the nightmares?" God asked.

Low Light nodded.

"Nah I told you that you wouldn't have any nightmares last night." He said. "It worked didn't it?"

"What worked?" Low Light asked.

God lifted his hand. "Hold on."

He took the CB out. He held it up to his face. "This is God's team checking in. The sun is shining." He said.

Some voice Low Light never heard crackled. "Copy that the next stop will be Grand Junction." It said.

There was static. "God" Trick Shot said.

God smiled. "Hey kid! How are you?"

"Not so good." Low Light heard him say. He was instantly more sober than gin and juice could do. He sat up straighter. He listened closer. "Is Low Light with you?" Trick Shot asked.

"Yeah he's sitting right here." God said. "Do you want to talk to him?"

"No not on a CB." Trick Shot said. "I just wanted to know if he was OK."

"Yeah I told you I would take care of Mac. Don't worry about it." God said.

There was more static. "Answer your phone MacBride!" Beachhead yelled.

There was clicking and feedback before the CB went dead

"Fuck." He said.

God hung up the CB. "Shit did you join the military or a monastery Mac? That guy has been blowing up your phone all damn night." He reached on the dash. Low Light's cell phone was blank. He blinked at it. "I finally had to turn it off. You would have never gotten some sleep." God said.

"Pete what did you do?" Low Light whispered.

"It would've never ended. I was up until one o'clock in the morning with that asshole knocking on the door. That E wanted to know where you were. I told him you were busy. And you were at the time. Sure you were busy sleeping but he didn't have to know that." God said. He had his eyes on the road. "I helped you out there Mac. I did you a fucking service."

He pushed in the cigarette lighter. A new cigar was in the ashtray. Low Light heard the lighter click. God took two angry puffs and rolled down the window. The cab was silent. God turned on a country and western radio station. It was playing Hank Williams Sr. He blew out smoke. He tapped the ash out the window. Sparks flew from the wind.

"Is he always that persistent?" God asked. He turned his head to check the other lane. He was passing a slower Hum Vee. He turned on his blinker. Low Light thought he saw Lifeline driving. Cover Girl always did say he drove like a grandma.

"You have no idea Pete." Low Light said. He finished his juice before he turned on his phone. There were five new voice messages. He had unread texts starting a little past eleven PM.

2230: First voice message. 'I don't want to know what you're doing but you missed check-in.' Beachhead said.

2300: Second Voice message. 'Pick up the phone Cooper. It's Wayne. Bye.' Beachhead said.

2320: Third voice message. 'Alright. Have fun with Little Miss Purple hair. Never say I didn't do you any favors.

That makes up for Saturday.' He sounded sarcastic that time

0010: Fourth voice message. 'God _dammit_ Cooper. If you won't listen to me then listen to Dixon. He looks

up to you. Don't let him go down that same road.' Beachhead said. His voice didn't sound angry as

much as it sounded disappointed. Low Light deleted it.

0015: Fifth voice message. 'Low Light? Low Light? Are you OK? You're not answering your phone.

Beachhead is here. Give me a call back. It's Dixon. I sure hope you're OK. I'm sorry for last

night. I shouldn't have left you. Anyway give me a call when you get this. Bye and I'll see you in

the morning. Bye. It's Dixon.' Low Light deleted that one too.

He started reading his text messages.

Low Light held his phone away. The name on the screen was one he wasn't expecting. It was written a little past Beachhead's second phone call. The font was in cursive. They weren't known to be friends. The truth was they hardly knew each other. It was in passing. He never paid it any attention. They just knew Beachhead. That was probably where she got his phone number.

2302: _Hi Cooper_

_ It's Courtney_

_ Wayne isn't mad if that's what you're afraid of. He's more worried than anything else. You know how he can be._

_ He does the same thing with me L.O.L. Can you give him a call back? Please? I don't think he's going to go to bed _

_ until you do. He promised he wouldn't yell. He just wants to know if you're alright. I do too. So give him a call. If _

_ you don't want to call him you can call me at 555-408-0695 and I'll let him know. I promise._

_ Talk to you later_

_ Courtney_

It wasn't long afterwards that Beachhead left the message about Mary. That must have been when she went to the trailer. It wasn't a far stretch to figure out what was going on. Low Light didn't hear about any of it until he woke up. The previous night was forgotten in a silver flask. He felt guilty. His friends were just worried about him. He could have told them he was fine but the truth was he wasn't. Now that God was here all of the familiarity came back. He was the same. Low Light was the same. He didn't have over protective Staff Sergeants breathing over his shoulder. He didn't have wide eyed hazel eyes looking up to him. He didn't have any of it. He was relieved. He checked the next message. Trick Shot's military photograph showed up. He groaned. He was the last one he wanted to hear from. He didn't want his worry. He didn't want his concern. He didn't want his looking up to him. He didn't want any of it. He wished General Hawk had never put him with the kid. The kid trusted him too much. It showed in the final shot. He gave him his goggles. He used the new scope. He wouldn't know the real reason why Low Light did it. He looked over at God.

The kid stood between him and God.

His smiling face stared at him.

He reluctantly opened it. His words were short.

2345: Low Light Beachhead is here. I had to tell him everything. I'm sorry. PS: It's Dixon. Bye.

Low Light deleted both of them. He didn't want to read the last one. The number was blocked. It was unfamiliar. The time stamp was past one o'clock in the morning. It was the last one. That was the time Beachhead knocked on the door. There weren't any voice messages or texts after it. It hung on his phone flashing to be read. He opened it.

0117: MACBRIDE WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID IN SIERRA GORDO

Low Light looked at it twice. He re-read it. The words hung in the air. When his phone vibrated he almost dropped it. There was a text message from Beachhead.

0937: Are You Busy

0938: No

Low Light wrote.

0939: What Happened

0939: Nothing3

0939: I Called You

0940: Yeah I just got iit

0947: Dixon Is Here

0948: Yeah. Thanks.

0948: You Okay

0949: 6eah

0949: Ducking fat fingers'

0949: Fuycking

0957: Did You Drink Dixon Told Me I Saw Purple Hair Go In

God Stopped Me

God picked up his phone. He swiped his finger across the screen. There was a number on speed dial. He hit send. He looked at it a moment. The recipient rang and clicked. He hung up. Low Light didn't notice. He had his face in his phone. He was busy text messaging.

1003: I'm fine Bech

1003: Howw's Dixon/

1004: He Disobeyed Orders He's Down To Your Level He Was Supposed To Keep You At His Side At All Times

1005: Shit. Don't take it out on him Beachhead.

1010: Thought That Would Get Your Attention No I Didn't I Didn't Tell Hawk

1010: ^hanks 2ayne

1010: We'll Talk Later

God turned up the radio. "Do you know what they call country music without drinking Mac?" He said.

That was a new one. Low Light put his phone away. He looked over. "No. What?" He said.

"Gospel music." He laughed.

Behind him Mary opened the door. She was undressed. She had a pie patch. When she stretched she showed her whole body. It was white. Her stomach was flat. She had a cross hanging from her naval. Her breasts lifted with erect pink nipples. They were pierced. So was the bottom. Low Light stared.

"Jesus girlie put some clothes on!" God said.

"God you are such a prude." Mary said. "It's 2013."

She said it more like 'God? You are such a prude' in a flat affect not like "GOD! You are _such _a Prude!"

She bent underneath the sink. Low Light had a view he hadn't seen in eight months. She took out the Gilby's. "Can I?" She asked. She shook it in the air.

"Go on Mary." God said. He looked over at Low Light. "Well shit Mac you don't need my permission. Get your ass back there!" He said.

Mary laughed.

It was noon.

Low Light didn't wake up until Grand Junction.

End Chapter Ten

Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound


	11. Chapter 11

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in ten chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Eleven

The Lord Knows I'm Drinking

1600

The answer to General Hawk's opening move was driving in a white paneled RV. They didn't know PJ Knight would send up God as his first test. It was a bold move. It cut his defenses and targeted his weaknesses. He was the black knight in the game. Trevor Jack was only a rook sent out to be sacrificed. It was unexpected. The man was laying the foundation of fire and brimstone answering Hawk's challenge with a crippling cut. One of his Knights was already down. Hawk sent out his medic. PJ Knight would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Hawk would have to rely on his white rook more than ever. Hopefully the Queen would be there to guide him. He looked at the messages. His soldiers were circling around their wounded. They weren't defeated yet. He leaned back and closed his eyes

Interstate 70 cut across Utah desert into the mountains of Colorado. It was a scenic drive. The canyon lands and national parks skirted it all the way to Grand Junction. The team left at 8 AM. They were making good time. Cover Girl was in the lead. She was driving Beachhead Trick Shot and Janack. Behind her Lifeline was with Ehrenstein and Barrel Roll. Low Light was missing. He left the night before after watching the video of American Sniper. Beachhead left Trick Shot in charge of keeping an eye on him. He wasn't listening to him. Maybe he would listen to Trick Shot.

Cover Girl looked over. "How is he?" She whispered. She didn't want Trick Shot or Janack to hear.

Beachhead shrugged. He was looking down at his phone. "Drunk." He said.

"Already?" Cover Girl choked. It was ten AM when he messaged him.

"Or still. That's the way he is." Beachhead said. He put his phone in his pocket. He exhaled and looked out the window.

Cover Girl patted him on the knee. "Hey it's going to be OK Ranger Man. You'll see." She smiled.

Beachhead shook his head. "I don't know Courtney. I give up." He said.

She looked over at him cock eyed. "You can't really believe that Wayne."

"Sometimes I do." He mumbled.

"Well you can't." Cover Girl said. She looked in the rearview where God was driving the RV. "You haven't given up before and you won't now."

The RV came closer.

"You're the only friend he has."

The convoy pulled into Grand Junction a little past four PM. It consisted of four trailers and two Hum Vees. They crossed the river on highway 70 and headed towards the train tracks. There was an Acorn Truck Stop off the road that could accommodate twenty to thirty eighteen-wheelers. It was the size of a mini mall. It had a McDonald's and a diner on the inside. They sold everything from high end electronics to post cards. There was a jack-a-lope pinned to the wall. The sticker said 19.99. There were some truckers enjoying steak and eggs and shit on a shingle while their rigs fueled up. It would take the better part of an hour. They wouldn't stop until Kansas or Oklahoma. Across the street was a Motel 6 for the ones that stayed the night. At the pumps a local country station was playing.

Cover Girl pulled up to the front entrance. Lifeline was fifteen minutes behind her. They took the time to stretch their legs. Janack went to the bathroom. The two Germans were wondering why they couldn't walk around with open beer bottles. They thought the law was silly. They took pictures of the jack-a-lope with their cell phones. The Cuban woman laughed. They handed her the phone making the universal sign for picture. The two of them posed in front of it with their fingers pointed. They smiled. Trick Shot bought a bottle of Coke and water. Beachhead bought four. Two of them he handed to Cover Girl. Everyone was quiet until the sound of a too loud muscle car thumping out gangster rap pulled in. Blackout let it idle for five minutes. It was starting to piss some of the truckers off. There were low grumbles of 'turn that shit off' before he cut the engine. He got out and leaned against the door. He was waiting for Barrel Roll.

God's RV stopped at the gas station. He wouldn't make it to Cheyenne without gassing up. He tapped off his cigar at the entrance. It was an aluminum disc. It had years of worn burns and baked on ash. He put the cigar in his front pocket. He took time to pick out his next pack. It was Swisher Sweet. Behind him Mary stepped out. She had black jeans that could have been painted on they were that tight. Her leather boots went to her knees. She missed the last step. A hand grabbed her by the arm. She stepped down on heels that were at least six inches high. She had Low Light's aviator sunglasses on. Her lips were blood red. She smiled. Mary and Low Light stood next to the RV stretching in the wind. The mountain air was blowing. The sun was getting ready to set. Mary shivered and hugged her shoulders. She waved and went to the bathroom. The truckers stared. She looked rode hard and put away wet. Low Light drank orange juice. He yawned.

Inside God bought two suitcases of Budweiser and a bag of ice. There was a bottle of JD on the counter. He was standing in line. He was making small talk with the truckers. They wanted to know where he was heading and could they come along. They laughed. In return God asked them what they were hauling. They were impressed with his knowledge of big rigs. It seemed like everywhere he went people liked him. Beachhead snorted behind him. Cover Girl had to elbow him in the arm. Trick Shot stood awkwardly behind them holding a bottle of coke and water. He laughed and clapped the trucker on the back as he left. He turned around with a grin.

"Hey there look who snuck up on me. We're making pretty good time don't you think?" God said. He winked at Cover Girl. "You're a pretty good driver there corporal. With you at the head we'll make it to Cheyenne by eight. Maybe I'll even be able to get some sleep tonight. You're not planning on waking up an old man two nights in a row are you Staff?" He shook his head. "Damn but my Army days are over. These days I like to sleep in."

He pushed his items forward. He opened his bill fold. He took out a corporate credit card. It had the Knight logo in white against blue. He gave the cashier instruction to fill up at pump number nine. He pointed outside where Low Light was looking down at his phone. He kept reading the mysterious text from last night.

"Don't you think he's had enough?" Beachhead grumbled. It came out in a whispered growl.

God pressed the payment key on the credit card scanner. "Who Mac?" He said. "Who said this was for him. This is for me and Mary. What Mac does is his own business." The cashier handed him the signature slip. "In case you haven't noticed Staff Mac's a big boy now. He doesn't need you checking in on him every twelve hours to hold his hand." He said. He bent down to sign his name. "He can hold his own dick when he pisses."

He stood up and stared right at him. Beachhead never wanted to hit someone so badly in his whole life. His fist clenched and unclenched. He had to remind himself that God was a civilian now. Cover Girl held his arm.

"Wayne." She said.

God flashed a smile and gave a half salute. He left. Beachhead turned around and handed Cover Girl the water. She rolled her eyes. She turned around and handed Trick Shot the water. Trick Shot stood there with six bottles of water and a coke in his arms. He saw Beachhead stop God in the middle of a Colorado Truck Stop.

"He's had enough." He said.

"That's real nice Staff but no one appointed you Mac's personal Savior and Guardian Angel all rolled into one." God said. "He doesn't need you dipping and dunking him in the name of the Lord. _Bama._ I recognized the accent. That's Deep South bible country there. There's no drinking, no smoking, no fucking, no gambling but Hell let's have a revival and shoot niggers."

It was a verbal punch. Beachhead stepped back. He had to blink before it processed. Cover Girl held his arm. She was trying to jerk him away. She looked around her as if she expected someone to help. Trick Shot held two plastic bags. They said 'Have a Nice Day.' Beachhead stood his ground.

"Coming from a man with your name I'm surprised you would say that." Beachhead said. "I know your kind."

"Oh yeah and what kind is that?" God said.

"The kind I would see setting up tents on the side of the road on a Wednesday and Saturday night. They were the kind that came to town with salvation in a bottle of snake oil and moonshine. They sold their words of redemption at a hundred bucks a pop. When they left they were a hundred grand richer and the folks that paid them had a jug and a hole in their pocket. What do you want with him?" He said.

"Wayne. Wayne. Stop." Cover Girl said.

God smiled. He looked over at Cover Girl. "There's no worries corporal. The man is just looking out for his friend. That's what good friends do. It's downright admirable. But I don't want anything from him Staff. It's just two old shooters having a good time on my last hoorah." He said. He saw Trick Shot. "Enjoy it while you can kid. The years have a way of hitting you later on."

Trick Shot lifted his hand. He heard everything.

"I'll see you in Cheyenne Staff. I'll get your man there. Don't worry about Mac. I'll take care of him."

God turned around. He went back to the RV. Low Light was filling gas. He pulled a cooler off the back. He dumped the ice in. He opened the bottom end of a suitcase. He heard them thump as they slid out. He pushed them around until they were covered in ice. He handed one to Low Light. They were talking. Mary came outside. She had a new straw cowboy hat on her head. It had a feather headband. She ran up and pulled Low Light's cap off. She bit his earlobe. It tugged down. He looked surprised. She laughed and put the cowboy hat on his head. God said something to her and she went inside. Low Light grabbed the cooler and followed.

Beachhead, Cover Girl, and Trick Shot watched them go. They were still waiting on Lifeline, Ehrenstein, and Barrel Roll. Janack walked up to them.

"Dixon go put the groceries in the truck." Beachhead said.

Trick Shot opened his mouth. He went to say something. Then he nodded. "He's my friend too." He said. He went to the Hum Vee.

Beachhead sighed. "I don't know what's going on but I don't trust that guy." He said. "He has an answer to everything. I don't like it."

"There is only one reason why a woman like that is with Low Light." Janack said.

Everyone was surprised to hear her say anything about the man. She normally stayed out of it. The two night snipers maintained a professional working relationship. The competition hadn't changed that. They were co-workers on and off the field. She didn't interfere in his personal life and he stayed out of hers. It was mutual.

"She is being paid." She said.

"So what else is new?" Beachhead said.

"He would have been better off with Jill." Cover Girl said. Janack looked at her sideways. She waved her hand. "Don't ask." She said.

"It doesn't matter now. We have to get to Cheyenne first." Beachhead said. He pointed to the road. "Here comes Lifeline."

God was right about the timing though. It was past 8 PM when the caravan pulled into Cheyenne Mountain. The production team was set up. Outside soldiers were milling around. Trevor Jack spent some time shaking hands with the senior staff. God was behind him. The director was giving instruction. They would start the competition at one PM. Trick Shot met up with Low Light in the parking lot. He had his back turned. If he heard him he didn't acknowledge it. He was looking out into the dark. He had his gear on. His goggles hid his eyes. He had a bottle in his hand. Trick Shot stood next to him. After he found out about his mother and General Hawk Low Light watched him finish a quarter of a bottle before he drove him back to base and put him to bed. When Beachhead found the whiskey Low Light covered for him. Now it was his turn.

"Are you OK?" He asked. "You didn't answer your phone last night."

"Yeah I'll be fine Dixon." Low Light said.

He passed the bottle to him. Trick Shot took a swallow. It burned in his throat. It spread through his veins like an internal fire. It took the chill out of the air. He handed it back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"What do you want me to tell Beachhead?" Trick Shot asked.

"Hell Dixon. He already knows." He said.

In his hand a new message flashed.

2056: MACBRIDE WE SAW WHAT YOU DID

End Chapter Eleven

The Lord Knows I'm Drinking

By Cal Smith

Hello, Mrs. Johnson  
You self-righteous woman  
Sunday School teacher  
What brings you out slumming

Do you reckon the preacher  
Would approve where you are  
Standing here, visiting  
With a back sliding Christian  
In a neighborhood bar

Well, yes, that's my bottle  
And, yes, that's my glass  
And I see you're eyeballing  
This pretty young lass

It ain't none of your business  
But, yes, she's with me  
And we don't need no sermon  
You self-righteous woman  
Just let us be

The Lord knows I'm drinking  
And running around  
And He don't need your  
Loud mouth informing the town  
The Lord knows I'm sinning  
And sinning ain't right  
But me and the Good Lord's gonna  
Have us a good talk later tonight


	12. Chapter 12

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in ten chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes On Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Twelve

The Devil's Right Hand

2056

The night around Cheyenne Mountain was pitch black. The moon was hidden. Around them the mountains stood like giants against the stars. It was a clear night. Low Light looked down at his phone. Beside him Trick Shot was watching. His eyes had too many questions for him to answer. He took another drink. The years might have passed but the memory remained the same. It all came back to Sierra Gordo. It was coming full circle. He still remembered.

When Low Light woke up there was rain on his eye lids. He was on the second night of a five night hunt. It was supposed to be an easy kill. He and Pete were sent to the South American country to find and assassinate the head of a drug cartel trading drugs for contra. The United States didn't want heavy artillery in the wrong hands. Just ten years earlier Oliver North had testified before Congress in Iran Contra hearings under Reagan and Bush Sr. They didn't want a repeat.

They sent God and Low Light to take care of it.

They were on the southern tip of the marsh lands following the river. Some of the locals escaped to the river when the country erupted into civil war. The remnants of floating homes could be seen on the banks. It was the quickest route in case of trouble. When the ground started to rumble with rumors of war entire families could abandon the land and hide on the water. It provided the best escape. The river and the jungle was their home. To Pete Anderson and Cooper MacBride it was the perfect snipers nest. The two of them burrowed themselves in under an abandoned wooden houseboat. It was handmade with primitive woven vines tied together. The roof was palm fronds. It ran aground in the last rainy season. The back end sunk deep into three feet of dirt. It looked directly out onto the river. On the opposite bank their target was hiding in the low lands.

Manuel Noriega would become famous as one of the most powerful drug dealers in Panama. When he was overthrown in 1989 Peter Jennings and Ted Koppel covered the news with a zealot's fervor. Archbishop Oscar Romero lived on as a post modern day Saint for his opposition against the tyranny in El Salvador. But in Sierra Gordo lives were taken that would never make the front page of a newspaper. It was part of the political jockeying that would last two decades. In the marshes Pete Anderson and Cooper MacBride waited. They were an unbeatable team. They were death in the night. In the jungle the Tucaro whispered Dios and Supai, the Inca God of Death. When the dos asesinos were there the natives fled to refuge in higher country. That was where Low Light found himself. He woke up alone. Pete was nowhere to be found. The night was pitch black. The moon was hidden. Above him the Southern Cross hung down like an accusing finger. Low Light was reminded of another night long ago in Crosby North Dakota. As in North Dakota or South America both times he was abandoned in the middle of the night. He breathed deep.

He belly crawled on his elbows until he was covered by the reeds. The rain was misting in the way it would when it just begins. Fat drops hit him on the back until he was soaked. It ran in rivulets in his eyes. The trail turned to mud. His heart hammered in panic. It was as if Pete disappeared. The target was fifteen hundred yards away. They were unaware. They sat under electric lights supplied by a gasoline generator. Their sugar cane rum was ninety proof and ice cold. Their brown buttoned shirts had sweat rings at the neck and arm pits. They wore bandanas at their throats and carried side arms. Inside was his target. He sat in front of a steel crate that held stacks of American money. A lone bulb hung from the ceiling. A sniping rifle was propped in the corner.

Jucinto de la Nueva-Toro had a reputation of being ruthless. He was responsible for the slaughter of entire villages that stood in his way. His own men feared him. They secretly planned his death a dozen times over. He was Low Light's target. It was the third night. In his scope the drug dealer bent over his desk. He was tall for a native. He had the dark skin and straight black hair of a Tucaro. He wore it in a pony tail. His eyes were a deep blue. His hands were calloused from hard work. They had dirt under the finger nails. He had a pack of cigarettes in his front pocket. In his hand he held a Zippo lighter. He shook out the last one. He straightened it with his lips. He crumbled the pack until it was a mash of paper and cellophane. He put the lighter to his mouth. Low Light took the shot. There was a flash of a spark as the bullet pierced the Zippo. The spray of blood reached the back wall in a fine mist as it exited the back of his head. Jucinto de la Nueva-Toro was dead before he hit the table. There were shouts of surprise from the men. They pointed to the river bank. They shot with their side arms in wide arcs that would never hit. One lifted Jucinto's hand. He grabbed at the stack of American money. There was a frenzy as the soldiers grabbed what they could carry. None looked back.

Low Light exhaled. It would take him the rest of the night and until sunrise to reach the camp. He followed trails and mud laden paths. His boots sloshed with water. He had the beginnings of blisters. The reeds scratched at his face. His pants were covered to the knee. The entire time he held his rifle hidden inside of his flak jacket. His scope and rifle he kept dry. It was the fourth day. Pete was still missing. And in the grey haze of morning rain Low Light stood over a dead man's body. His hand held the Zippo lighter like a last precious belonging. It had a Maltese cross surrounded by olive leaves. Inside of the cross were the two circles of a sharp shooter. John Anderson the former Army sniper and rifle expert took his last breath in a third world country shot by one of his own.

Low Light caught up to God a week later. He was drinking chicha in an open air bar surrounded by kapok trees. The rains were just beginning. Underneath the wooden beams metal fans blew cool air. The bartender opened a barrel and poured white thin alcohol with a ladle made of some tuber. He set it in front of Low Light. There was a native girl in a worn New York Yankee's T-shirt and cut off blue jean shorts fanning herself in a hammock. She didn't wear a bra. She was barefoot. She looked at him lazily. They were the only ones there. God didn't look surprised to see him. Low Light took a drink of chicha. It started out tart. It was made by the local Tucaro women. They chewed corn and spit it into a barrel. The enzymes mixed with the saliva to ferment the corn. It was strong. It made his body shake and his brain numb. He threw the lighter at God.

"You knew. You knew all along." Low Light said.

God picked up the Zippo. He studied it. "The man was a traitor. He sold his soul to the highest bidder. He deserved to die like the dog he was." He said.

"He was one of us!" Low Light said.

"He gave up that right the minute he came into this Hell hole!" God yelled. "He didn't deserve the tab!"

"Why? Why Pete?" Low Light asked. "Why me?"

God rubbed his face. It was covered in sweat, dirt, rain, and two weeks' worth of beard. His eyes had dark circles. He shook his head. "Shit Mac. I had to." He said. "You would have never gone out on your own. I couldn't be with you all the time. You had to find out on your own. The Terrible Twosome had to be broken up. It was for your own good." He said.

"He was your son." Low Light said.

Pete Anderson finished his drink. He put a new American twenty dollar bill on the bar. The bartender expressed his eternal gratitude to him and tried to offer him more chicha and grilled capybara. When that didn't work he shook his hand and waved at the native girl.

Behind them the native girl rolled over. Her hand touched the floor. It swayed. Her finger tips dragged the wood. Her black eyes were in a half lid. She watched them. She didn't understand.

"Dios. Dios. God." She whispered.

God stood up. "I have no son." He said.

It was the last time Low Light saw him.

Twenty years later it still followed Low Light into the mountains of Colorado. He looked at Trick Shot. Beachhead was right. The kid did look up to him. No matter how much he didn't want him to Trick Shot depended on him. He remembered a time when he trusted Pete the same way. He also remembered the betrayal. He wouldn't allow the same thing to happen to him. Whether he liked it or not General Hawk assigned the responsibility of training the next natural to Low Light. He believed he could do it. Low Light was forty-two now. He would need the time and experience to teach Trick Shot before he was left on his own. The kid could do it. He was a prodigy. He was his best bet at beating God.

For the first time since Trick Shot walked up to him Low Light looked at him. With his gear and goggles on Trick Shot could remember the time when the night sniper was as mysterious and untouchable as the rumors said he was. His eyes didn't seem to look at him as much as they looked past him. He seemed to be making up his mind.

Trick Shot was the one that broke eye contact. He looked at the mountains. The winds were changing. Clouds were starting to come in.

"So what happens now?" Trick Shot asked.

Low Light didn't answer. He had a bottle in his hand and a rifle on his back. When he finally spoke his voice was low.

"Now it all ends." Low Light said. "Now it's up to you."

"But how? How do I do that Low Light?" Trick Shot asked. "I'm not you." He said.

Low Light thought about it. His hands dangled at the bottle and then to his scope. It was a choice between the two. He had to make a decision. Trick Shot was waiting for an answer. His face was still innocent. His eyes were still wide. He looked at him for guidance. Low Light couldn't betray it. He could stop the pattern once and for all.

"Trust." Low Light said.

"Trust." Trick Shot said.

They shared the bottle.

In the trailer God buckled his belt. Mary knelt before him like a picture of genuflection. Green eyes and blond hair looked up at him. She had sweat on her upper lip. She wiped the corner of her mouth. Her knees were red and rug burned. He grunted. The woman was useful in more ways than one. He threw the sheets and blankets at her. She turned her head when they hit her.

"Go wash these. They smell like cum and gin." God said. "I can't sleep like that."

She stood up. "Is he really worth as much as you say he is?" Mary asked.

She balled the covers in her hand and put them on the bed. She went over to the small closet. There were empty hangers where Low Light kept his pants and jacket. His cap was missing. On the top shelf there was an empty spot where he put his goggles. She pulled a black T-shirt with a hole at the collar that said 'Night Ops' on the front and 'Do it in the Dark' on the back. She tied it at her waist.

"Ass up and head down girlie. That's the way he likes it. You just keep giving him what he wants and leave the rest to me." God said.

Mary laughed. She pulled on her boots. She knew where Low Light was. He wasn't that far away. The kid was with him. She walked up cautiously. He heard her before she made it. She put her arms around his hips. Her hands went down the front. It was what she hoped for. She leaned her cheek against his right shoulder. It didn't take him long to dismiss the kid. She smiled. He handed her the bottle. She took a drink. In her palm she felt him respond.

She didn't know she was being watched by another night sniper.

End Chapter Twelve

The Devil's Right Hand

By Steve Earl

About the time that Daddy left to fight the big war  
I saw my first pistol in the general store  
In the general store, when I was thirteen  
I thought it was the finest thing I ever had seen

So l asked if I could have one someday when I grew up  
Mama dropped a dozen eggs, she really blew up  
She really blew up, and she didn't understand  
Mama said the pistol is the devil's right hand

The devil's right hand, the devil's right hand  
Mama says the pistol is the devil's right hand

Me very first pistol was a cap and ball Colt  
Shoots as fast as lightnin' but it loads a mite slow  
It loads a mite slow, and soon I found out  
It'll get you into trouble but it can't get you out

So then I went and bought myself a Colt 45  
Called a peacemaker but I never knew why  
I never knew why, I didn't understand  
Mama says the pistol is the devil's right hand

The devil's right hand, the devil's right hand  
Mama says the pistol is the devil's right hand

Got into a card game in a company town  
I caught a miner cheating, I shot the dog down  
I shot the dog down, I watched the man fall  
He never touched his holster, never had a chance to draw

The trial was in the morning and they drug me out of bed  
Asked me how I pleaded, not guilty I said  
Not guilty I said, you've got the wrong man  
Nothing touched the trigger but the devil's right hand

The devil's right hand, the devil's right hand  
Mama says the pistol is the devil's right hand

The devil's right hand, the devil's right hand  
Mama says the pistol is the devil's right hand


	13. Chapter 13

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in ten chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes On Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Thirteen

Bloody Mary Morning

2108

Janack stopped watching when Mary went to her knees. She didn't want to see any more. It was the only reason Low Light was with her. She knew about Low Light's reputation. She saw his bike on Nebraska Avenue. She worked with him on Monday nights after the weekend. Low Light never mentioned it. He didn't have to. It was none of her business. They weren't friends. They were co-workers. What Low Light did was up to him. He was still reliable at his shifts. On a mission he was ready. He covered her and she covered him. That was the way it went. There was nothing else. Now he had Mary for relief. It was what he thought he deserved. She wished she could tell him differently. She shook her head. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

When it happened Low Light gripped what he could. Mary had short hair. He shuddered. She was as good as a pro. She might be better. It was too long ago. She sat back on her ankles. He offered her the bottle. He had to zip up and buckle. Mary swished the whiskey around in her mouth. She swallowed. She knew what she was doing. Low Light saw the whores on Nebraska do the same thing. He stared. She was more than the makeup artist. The production crew kept her around for a reason. How many she had in her mouth he didn't think about. He was too drunk. They were supposed to be at their barracks. The soldiers were going out on drills at four AM. They were invited. Beachhead would be there he knew. So would Cover Girl and Trick Shot. Lifeline, Ehrenstein, Barrel Roll and Janack would be there too. He had to get some sleep. Mary handed him the bottle instead. She stood up. It was still early. He wasn't tired. He didn't know if he would sleep tonight. They stumbled to God's trailer.

God was on the phone. He hung up when they walked in. Mary collapsed in the chair. She closed her eyes. She was passed out. God laughed.

"It's just like old times. You wore the poor girl out Mac." He grinned. "Do me a favor and put her in the back." He said.

It wasn't hard. Mary was a hundred and ten pounds of bone. Low Light had gear that weighed more. Trick Shot's pack was almost that heavy. She wasn't what he normally liked in body type. A woman should look like a woman. They were curves and softness. It was sexy. Otherwise they looked like they hadn't hit puberty. Cover Girl mentioned it to Beachhead once. They both agreed. He laid her down. He put the bottle by her head. He left. He wouldn't be staying.

God handed him a beer. He sat down and opened it. There were too many things he wanted to ask tonight. After twenty years he never expected to see the man again. He hoped he would never see him again. He replayed the scenario in his mind over the years. None of them went well. Now that he had the opportunity he didn't know what to say. He stayed in a haze. The air was cooler. God had a portable heater plugged into the RV. It cast orange light. His face was hidden. It showed for a few seconds each time he inhaled his cigar. He was watching him. It was those times that Low Light thought God could tell what he was thinking. He looked away.

God started out by leaning forward. He gestured to his right hip. "That's a pretty sharp scope you got there Mac. It doesn't look like any Leupold I've ever seen. Mind if I have a look?" He said.

Low Light never allowed anyone to touch his scopes. He would allow Beachhead to keep his Dragunov. He taught Trick Shot how to use the M110 and KA 120. Those were sniping rifles. His scopes he kept with him at all times. He alone was the one that cleaned and calibrated them. With the MB-SF #17 2-b he kept in a protective tube case on his right thigh. He invented it. This was one of five in the world. No one else used it. He gave it to Trick Shot for the sole purpose of beating God. That was selfish. The kid could beat Trevor Jack with or without it. He was that good.

"I have to get going Pete. I'm competing tomorrow." Low Light said.

He stood up. He threw an empty in the trash. "Wait! Don't you want to know what happened in Sierra Gordo Mac?" God said.

"I know what happened. I was there." Low Light said.

God shook his head. "You don't know the half of it Mac. Sit down. Have another one." He said.

Low Light sat down. He opened another beer. That was when God told him the truth.

"It was in Rio Lindo." God said. "I was down for five months. Me and Emily were going through some rough times back then. I didn't want to be around. She didn't want me around. April I guess was only two at the time. Diana was just a baby. They barely knew me. I was out on missions. Uncle Sam had a way of getting me out of the house. I took it."

"There was this steady I was seeing at some hot pillow joint in the capital. She was a Tucaro haffie. Her own tribe kicked her out. She was beautiful. You know the natives all black hair dark skin and big brown doe eyes. She was a sweet thing. Then again they're all sweet things for the right amount of money. You know what I'm talking about." God said.

Low Light nodded. They said the right things. They did the right things. They even curled up and pretended to love him for a few dollars more. He drank his beer. He reached into the ice for another. In that way he wasn't much different than God.

"I didn't even know about John until a few years later. I was back in the States. Emily gave me Clarissa as the last one. You remember my daughters. All I got of a son was a shit Polaroid and some scribbles in Spanish. He must've been five. He was dark like a Tucaro. Black dirty hair and a Inca nose. No Tucaro had blue eyes like that though. How was I supposed to know? I couldn't tell Emily. I went down there looking for him. I took care of it the best I could. It wasn't much but his mother could have running water and food to eat. He went to school. They said he was sharp as a whip."

"He joined the CIA School of America when he was sixteen. Those fuckers were looking for anyone that could speak Spanish and shoot straight. John was a natural. It didn't take him long. He wanted to be a sniper like his old man." God snorted. "It was the only thing he knew about me. He moved up but he was mean. The brass was keeping an eye on him. He could kill a man from a mile away without thinking. He was cruel and dirty. He got kicked out before they could charge him with murder."

"It was a joke. Everyone was dirty back then. The CIA, The FBI, The Rebels, and The Army. You were there. Everyone had their fat little fingers in the pie. Guns and drugs was the name of the game. They wanted to eliminate it. They had to have known about him. They had to. That was why they sent me. They sent _us_.I had him in my sites a couple times. You were knocked out. You were having nightmares. I couldn't wake you up with a brick. When it came down to it I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it Mac. Don't you see?" God said.

It was as if God were asking for his absolution. He studied his face. He wanted forgiveness. Low Light sat and listened. That night would hang over the both of them for the rest of their lives.

"I didn't want a stranger. I couldn't let a stranger do it. I needed someone I knew. I owed him that much. I wasn't around when he was alive. I could be there at the end." God said.

He whispered. He put his elbows on his knees. "Mac you understand that right? You're a sniper. It takes a sniper to kill a sniper. I couldn't let them do it. It had to be you." He said. He reached out to touch him. "You understand right? Right?"

"I don't think I'm ever going to understand anything except the warm end of a gun Pete." Low Light said.

When he stood up he swayed. His head was foggy. What God said would take years to think about. He made a backwards stumble that knocked the chair against the RV. He couldn't see straight. He knew he didn't want to be here. He didn't have anywhere else to go. He put his palm on the trailer. He straightened himself against the panel. He didn't know where he was going. He headed towards the barracks. Behind him God dropped his head. He couldn't tell if he cried or not.

The air was getting colder. Low Light was flushed. His head was pounding. He took off his cap. He put it in his back pocket. The late night soldiers avoided him. They had missing faces. One grinned at him. They were crawling towards him. A production member asked him if he was alright. He passed him by. He made it to the common area. The American Flag was lit in a spotlight. He stopped to look at it. He was in shadow. A familiar voice was talking to him. He couldn't break his eyes away. It had an accent. The sound was soothing. It didn't smell like earth and sweat. It smelled like Dial soap. There was a wet in its hair. A hand held his elbow. He went with it.

He pressed his cheek against the door. It was cool on his face. The voice was still talking. He wanted it to shut up. He closed his eyes. He knocked on the door.

"Beach! Beach! Let me in." He said. He could say that much with a bit of coherence. If he made it that far he would be safe. He did it for a lot of years.

The voice stopped him. "Sssshhh. Don't wake them up." It said.

The door opened. He stumbled in. He didn't recognize where he was. It was a simple barracks. There were two beds. It wasn't his room. He was in Colorado. He was competing in the morning. He fucked a Punk Princess by the name of Mary that went to her knees. God was there. He had too much to drink. It all came back to him. He sat down too hard on the bed. There was a cheeseburger and French fries on the end table. It was cold.

"They had a party for us. We met the commander. They were very happy to see us. You missed it. The food was very good. I am sorry you didn't make it." Janack said. "I am full. You can have it." She said.

Low Light took a bite. He blinked blearily. "Where's Beachhead." He mumbled. He had his mouth full.

"They are next door." Janack said.

By 'they' Low Light knew she meant him and Cover Girl. He nodded. It was Saturday. It was now Tuesday. He was probably ready. Low Light grunted. He put the cheeseburger back down. He wasn't hungry. He was tired. He rubbed his face. He was dirty and unshaved. He smelled like whiskey and beer and sex. He took off his jacket. He couldn't figure out how to get out of a T-shirt. Janack pulled and tugged at it while he held his arms up. It was inside out. She filled out a white knit tank top. She didn't wear pants. She had white cotton bikini underwear on. They hung on her hips. She had hips. When she changed Low Light didn't know. Her hair was down and wet. That was the smell. It was clean. She stared at him.

"What?" He said.

She looked away. "You have a lot of tattoos." Janack said.

He didn't hear the rest. The light went out. There was shuffling when she went to bed. She sighed.

"Janack." Low Light said.

"Yes?"

"I have"

"Nightmares. I know." She replied.

"Wake me up." He said.

"OK. Go to sleep. Goodnight Low Light."

He snored.

He didn't have his scope.

At the RV God was on the phone.

"Hi PJ. It's Pete. We're in Colorado."

"Yeah he just left."

"I don't know. I don't care."

"I have better than that."

"Would you stop jawing and listen to me PJ?"

"You don't need Hawk's snipers. With this thing they're obsolete."

"I have it right in my hands."

"I told you I would get it. I know the kid."

"I'm sending the pictures now. He won't know its missing."

"Yeah about that. I'm going to need another two million."

"Two million or you get nothing."

"That's what I thought."

God went inside. He closed the door. "Mary, you sweet beautiful Mary. You're going to need a raise." He said.

End Chapter Thirteen

Bloody Mary Morning

For Winterhalt


	14. Chapter 14

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in twenty chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes On Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Fourteen

Yesterday's Wine

0400

It was one of those dreams that were disconnected. He was a part of it but he was on the outside looking in. He couldn't interfere. In it Trick Shot sat on a boulder in the Utah desert. He had his back turned. There was a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He had water surrounding him. It sparkled in the moonlight. It reached the bottom of his boots. When Low Light looked closer the water wasn't water at all. It was the slithering and glisten of thousands of snakes. They moved like a river around him. He was alone on an empty boulder in a sea of snakes. He didn't seem to notice. Low Light tried to warn him. He either didn't listen or didn't hear. He yelled louder. It seemed the more he tried the further away he became. He tried to run but his feet were stuck. He was moving in place without going anywhere. The snakes started to move. They melded together eating at each others' tails until it became a mass of squirming tissue. The scales pulsed and bubbled like an evil thing trying to break out. It morphed until it became one giant snake. It hissed. It's tongue licked the air. It was moving faster and faster towards Trick Shot. Low Light yelled again when it stood up. He was screaming. Trick Shot didn't turn around. It looked briefly at Low Light before its jaw unhinged and swallowed him whole. It had blue eyes.

Low Light woke up on the floor. Someone was slapping his cheek. It hurt. He batted it away. Above him Janack was getting ready to slap him again. He grabbed her wrist. She was still in her underwear.

"Slap me scratch me pull my hair. I like it rough." He said.

Janack snorted. He let go. "I see you are awake." She said. She sat back. With her knees open like that it was too tempting not to look.

He had his head on the floor. He was flat on his back. His eyes blinked at the ceiling. "No that happens every morning." He said. He coughed. "What happened?"

"You were mumbling. You said 'They're crawling.'" Janack said. "You told me to wake you up. I did."

"Yeah. Thanks." Low Light said. He sat up. It was a mistake. He was sitting on the floor with his legs straight out. His head pounded. It took him a while to realize it was the door. He winced.

Janack stood up and opened the door. Beachhead looked in. He looked at the two of them. He didn't have to say anything. His face said it all. Janack had her knit tank top on and white underwear. Low Light was sitting on the floor in boxers. He lifted his hand then ran it through his hair.

Beachhead grunted at them. "PT in half an hour." He said. He closed the door behind him.

Low Light lay back on the floor. He stared at the ceiling. He didn't want to get up. He spread his arms out and closed his eyes. He could hear Janack moving around the room. She opened and closed the closet door. It squeaked on un-oiled hinges. He heard her put her boots on. She was busy making the bed. All Low Light needed was his clothes. He rolled over on his side. They had five minutes to spare by the time Janack yanked him outside.

The soldiers of Cheyenne Mountain were good. They were on home turf. They showed off. Trevor Jack was jogging with them. They were being filmed. He was surprised to see Lifeline and Ehrenstein keeping pace. They were good runners. They had to be. The two Germans were having an argument. The Cuban woman ran with Cover Girl and Janack. Beachhead kept an eye on his group. He was in his element. Low Light was in the back of the pack. When Low Light started dragging he jogged back. He looked like death warmed over. He was sweating. He held his hands on his knees. He bent over. He had the chance to make it to the trees before he was sick. Beachhead grumbled. He should have just left him. He stood and waited instead. Cover Girl was right. He didn't give up before and he wouldn't now. Even if he did piss him off.

"Are you about finished?" He said.

Low Light nodded. He had his head down. "I don't remember eating corn." He said.

"When you puke in Technicolor let me know." Beachhead snorted. He handed him a bottle of water.

"What do you know about the Technicolor yawn?" Low Light said. He took a drink and spit. He stood up.

"I know more than you think." Beachhead said. "I've been there a few times. The first time was after basic. I was on leave. My dad took me down to the bar to celebrate. I don't think I've ever been that sick. I remember my dad saying 'Boy you better remember this one good afore you go out doing it again'." He laughed.

"I remember your dad. He was a good man." Low Light said. He drank the entire bottle before he started again.

"Yeah he was." Beachhead said. He knew better than to mention Low Light's. "You're pretty thick with Pete though." He said. He was digging and he knew it. Not only did he not trust the man he downright hated him. As far as he was concerned the man that went by 'God' was responsible for Low Light's back slide. And that 'Mary' was a whore even if she wasn't working on Nebraska Avenue.

Low Light looked at him. If he wanted to say something he kept it to himself. They were jogging slowly up a gravel road running along the mountainside. "Pete is nothing like your dad." He finally said.

He looked up and pointed at the road. "Don't look now Beach but I think the film crew found your girlfriend." Low Light said.

Beachhead cussed. They would have to talk about it later. Low Light waved him on. He could feel the water start to hit him in about two seconds. With any luck they wouldn't film it.

The production team was following in an electric golf cart. They were filming Cover Girl Janack and the Cuban woman running. He could imagine what they were focusing on. Women were known to jiggle when they ran. Low Light knew Janack could fill out a tank top. He could see Cover Girl doing the same. The Cuban woman glowered. In the background he could hear Beachhead yelling.

God lifted the MB-SF #17 2-b the moment he leaned over to pat Low Light's leg when his story was over. The man was too drunk to notice. He stumbled away without looking back. God doubted he knew it was missing. It was Mary's job to replace it before he did. She left as soon as they left for PT. Now that PJ Knight had the photographs his scientists could get a good look at the scope. It wasn't as good as the real thing but it would give them a start.

Mary found Low Light's room easily anough but it didn't look like his room. There was shaving cream on the sink and women's mango and strawberry shower gel in the bathtub. She opened the cap and sniffed. In the closet women's clothes were mixed with men's. None of it was Low Light's. She tried the next room. Only one of the beds was slept in. The other one had pillows on the floor and sheets tangled in the blanket. It smelled like whiskey and beer and sex. In the sink a black T-shirt was being soaked. A bra hung from the shower head. It was three sizes larger than hers. There were two plates in the trash can. She knew exactly who it was. It was the lesbian sniper that was at the Acorn Truck Stop when she went to the bathroom yesterday. The way the woman looked at her made her shiver. She wanted to rip her clothes apart. She growled and threw the scope on the bed. Low Light was supposed to be _her _target. God said he was worth millions. She slammed her hand against the wall. Now he was fucking the dyke not more than three hours after he had his dick in her mouth. If it was up to her she would poke that carpet muncher's eyes out. She slammed the door on the way out. The bitch was yet to hear from her.

When she opened the door Low Light went straight to the bathroom. He weaved and swayed until he was inside. Janack noticed the scope on the bed the minute they came back. She didn't remember it being there when they left. She wondered why it was in the middle of the bed. Low Light would have felt it when he was sleeping. He never went anywhere without his scope. No matter how drunk he was he still kept his scopes close. Janack set it aside on the end table. In the bathroom Low Light was still busy being sick. She picked up the pillows and put them on the bed. She heard the toilet flush and then the shower start. He was in there for twenty minutes before the water stopped. When he came out he had a towel around his waist and shaving cream on his face.

"I need some clean clothes." He said. His left shoulder to his bicep and along the left side of his flank was covered in the Roman Numeral X. He had another three across his abdomen.

"They are in the closet. There are boxers in the second drawer." Janack said. She was still staring.

Low Light was used to people staring at his tattoos. They started out just on his back. Then he added the others to his bicep. When he ran out of room he started a column down his flank. Beachhead watched them accumulate over the years. He didn't ask any more. It was the greenshirts that asked the most. Janack wasn't any different in that way.

"There's two hundred." He said. "It's one for every ten kills. Where's my boots?"

Janack pointed at the closet and nodded but that wasn't what she was thinking. Low Light went about his business as if she wasn't there. She got up and got her own sniping rifle. They had that much in common at least.

The competition was set to begin at one PM. On the range the Cheyenne Mountain soldiers took pot shots at the targets. The winners got souvenirs from American Sniper. There were T-shirts up to autographed pictures of Trevor Jack. The closest winner got a new KA 120 sniping rifle. It went to an experienced Major by the name of Dravis. Everyone congratulated him. Trevor Jack posed for photographs and shook his hand.

On the firing range Janack and the Cuban woman were focusing. Low Light and Trick Shot watched. Janack was part of their team and probably their closest competition. They were Joe's. They were the best of the best. Everyone else would be left behind. The target started at fifteen hundred yards. It was the distance they cleared at the Pit. At each stop the target would get further and further away. The Cuban woman shot first. It was a half an inch from center. She muffled something in Spanish under her breath. There was a commotion going on behind them. At the edge where the snipers kept their equipment the Germans were in a fist fight. They yelled at each other at the top of their lungs. Everyone turned around to watch. The film crew ran over. His spotter shoved him down and broke his scope over his knee.

The sniper stood up. He said the only English words he knew. "Fuck you! Fuck you! Quit! I quit!" He said. It was film Gold. The cameras followed behind him the entire way to his truck.

The director circled his arms in pantomime as if he was filming. "Keep going. Keep going." He said.

They couldn't have asked for more drama. The second episode of American Sniper was going to have ratings through the roof. They paused for a cut while they read the legal policies in the event a team forfeited. An assistant kept knocking on the German's door. She had a clipboard in her hand and a headset on. She wasn't getting the response she wanted. She raised her hands. He wasn't going to come out. When he said he quit he meant it. The crew let their lawyers figure it out while they went back to the competition.

Janack didn't let it bother her. She lined up her shot as if nothing happened. It was then Mary ran up with her makeup case. She had a full blond wig on today. The hair cascaded down her back. It matched Janack's. She went to touch up the sniper's makeup. Janack stood patiently. Mary took out blue penciled eyeliner. Her hand was steady as she came closer to her eye. Janack looked up. Her hand was almost at her eyeball. Janack blinked a few times when the pencil touched her bottom eyelid. Mary smiled. She made one clean sweep before she put on mascara.

She cooed. "There. Now you're ready for your close up." Mary said. She flashed a smile.

She leaned forward until she was at Janack's earlobe. She wanted to make sure her and she alone heard what she said.

"The girls are just going to _love_ you." She whispered.

She laughed.

End Chapter Fourteen

Yesterday's Wine

For Winterhalt


	15. Chapter 15

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in twenty chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes On Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Fifteen

She's Got You

Janack peered through her scope. The target was directly in her site. Her eyes blinked. She couldn't stop the hammering in her chest. It was as if her heart was in her throat. She swallowed a couple times and looked again. The time was dwindling down. Behind her Low Light and Trick Shot waited. They could see the timer tick by. Trick Shot looked at Low Light and mouthed 'what the fuck.'" She had fifty seconds on the clock before Low Light called time. The clock stopped. He went up and squatted next to her. All she could see was his boots. Her target was sixteen hundred yards. She could do that in the dark. She and Low Light did it all the time. It was a game with them at night when they were bored. They would take turns taking shots at rabbits and coyotes around the Pit. When the coyotes and rabbits weren't around they would shoot cacti. There wasn't a living cactus around the Pit for two square miles. Then at the end of the night Low Light would give his thumbs up in her scope. That was as far as it went. It was like that for two years.

"What's up Janack?" Low Light said.

She lifted her head. If she stared any more she would get eye fatigue. A sniper had to be careful about it. She blew her hair out of her face. "I am just as you say off my game." She said. She didn't look at him.

"A Joe is never off their game. You're better than that." Low Light said. "I know you are. Now take your shot." He said. He patted her shoulder like she was a buddy. Janack sighed.

At eighteen hundred yards she took her shot. The Cuban woman cussed again in Spanish.

"Joder! Ya me ganaste!"

The Cuban woman came over to shake her hand. She was out. Janack stood up. Low Light went over to congratulate her. But it wasn't Janack that came over. It was Mary. She stopped between the two. With her blond wig on she wrapped her arms around Low Light's neck. She stood up on her toes to kiss him. Low Light normally didn't kiss the women he fucked. It was too intimate. He didn't love her. She was just an easy use for his release. Kissing was meant for couples like Beachhead and Cover Girl or Snake Eyes and Scarlet. He had no doubt they kissed each other when they were in bed. Low Light didn't want to see faces. He usually did it from behind. Outside of having sex he didn't acknowledge their existence. He especially didn't kiss them in public. It was like kissing a whore in the middle of Nebraska Avenue. Now Mary was just being clingy. What he thought of as a good time she was making into something more.

"Give me a kiss for luck?" She smiled. She jabbed her tongue in his mouth.

Low Light unwrapped Mary's arms. "I don't need luck." He said. He pulled her away. Janack was watching. She was disassembling her sniping rifle. She turned her head.

He walked over to Trick Shot. He didn't get it. Low Light could have been with his mother. Instead he was running around with a woman Firewall would call 'skeezy'. It was the shortened version of sleazy cunt.

He shook his head. "Damn do you still have your tonsils?" He said.

Low Light grunted. "Let's go Dixon. We still have a competition to finish." He said.

Behind him Mary was pouting. She gave a wink to Janack before God walked up with Trevor Jack. He said something to her and she stopped. She went about re-doing the TV star's make-up. He was the one that was going to be filmed today. He had tissues in his collar that looked like a toilet seat hygiene cover. God was busy assembling his sniping rifle. It ticked him off to no end that he was relegated to being some pretty boys' grunt. PJ Knight would have to pay him well on this job. He looked over at Low Light and Trick Shot. They had a real report. Trick Shot trusted him. God remembered when Low Light trusted him the same way. That all ended in Sierra Gordo. He swore it would never happen again. He was no one's father figure. His real son was an abomination responsible for the genocide of hundreds of Tucaro natives. In life he was cruel and sadistic. He traded his sniping tab for drugs and money. He was dead in some third world country at the hands of his apprentice. Now Low Light had an apprentice of his own. God kept a close eye on him. Trick Shot didn't notice. They were up next.

Low Light looked through his scope. It was off more than normal. He looked again. It was un-calibrated. He never left his scopes that way. They were pristine and ready to go. A sniper had to be ready at all times. He couldn't spend five minutes messing around with his scopes when there was a target to be made. There was only one reason in Low Light's mind why it would be so fucked up. Someone touched his scope. He had a few choice words for who it was.

"Dixon." He said.

The kid looked over. "What?"

"Have you been messing with my scope?" Low Light asked.

"Who me?" Trick Shot said. He snorted. "No way! There's the first rule of being a sniper and then there's the second rule of being a sniper. Rule One: One Shot, One Kill. Rule Two: Don't touch Low Light's scope." He laughed.

"If you're lying to me I'll find out." Low Light said.

"I swear on a stack of bibles I didn't touch your scope Low Light." Trick Shot said. He looked upset that Low Light would think he was the one messing with it.

"Trust." Trick Shot said. He held up his hand for a knuckle punch. Low Light tapped him back.

"Yeah. Trust." Low Light mumbled.

That left one more person in Low Light's mind.

He stalked over to where Janack was standing. The film crew was interviewing her as the last woman to compete. She answered graciously. She had too much makeup on. Her face looked spackled on. The eyeliner brought out her eyes. Her eyebrows were groomed. Her lips were a moist soft red. She would look great on film. Beside her Low Light was pacing. He had to wait until Trevor Jack was finished. The camera panned over to him. He gave his thumbs up. He wasn't in the mood to smile but Janack was part of his team. He did the best he could. After Episode One everyone was careful about what they did or said. Even innocent gestures were edited to something different. He congratulated her. With her win it brought them closer to Kirtland Air Force Base.

Trevor Jack stopped. That was Low Light's cue. He walked up and took her elbow. "I need to talk to you." He said. They walked off until it was just them in the camera. The mountains were in the background. The sun was shining. It penetrated her blond hair like a halo. Janack looked up to him. They were face to face. "I know it was you messing with my scope." He said.

"What? I was not messing with your scope Low Light." Janack said. "That is the second rule of being a sniper. The rule number two is do not mess with Low Light's scope."

"Bull Fucking Shit. Don't give me that Janack! There is no one else." He said.

"I am telling the truth! I found it on the bed and moved it. That is all." She said. "I did not touch it."

She crossed her arms. Low Light leaned back. Janack was very close to hitting him. She got in his face. He'd never seen her this way before.

"You were drunk. You could not function. I took you back to the barracks. You ate a cheeseburger. You missed the party that the base had for us. You fell asleep. I woke you up. You were sick. You took a shower. You changed into your clothes. You left your scope on the bed. I moved it. That is all that happened. I. Did. Not. Touch. Your. Scope." Janack said. "Perhaps you should look at your girlfriend instead of accusing me."

"She's not my girlfriend. And that's none of your business Janack. What I do doesn't concern you." Low Light said. "I stay out of your business. You stay out of mine. I don't need you putting your nose in it. I don't care if you are gay or not. I don't bother with your life so stay out of it." He said.

Janack hit him so hard he didn't have time to think about it. He was getting used to women hitting him. The last one was Scarlet. She punched him in the jaw after Sierra Gordo that his cheek was bruised for two weeks. When it started healing he had purple and yellow marks on his face in the shape of a knuckle. This time he had his hand up before Beachhead stopped him. Beachhead shoved him aside. It didn't stop Low Light from gritting. He'd never hit a woman before but he was close to it. Janack pissed him off. He knew it was her.

"Hey Hey Hey!" Beachhead said. He was moving him further and further away from the female sniper. "Don't even THINK about it MacBride!" He said. "Remember Lisa?"

Low Light stopped. He pressed himself against his hands. He pointed over his shoulder. "Don't touch my shit Janack!" He yelled.

"Fuck you! Fuck you Low Light! I didn't TOUCH your shit!" Janack said. "Do not come to my room tonight and ask me to wake you up. You can spend the night fucking your whore. That's what she's good for." She said. "She's perfect for you."

Low Light made a move to run after her. Beachhead stopped him. "I mean it MacBride! I SAID Stand. Down" He said.

Low Light settled down. He was still mad. He walked in circles until he could calm down. The woman knew how to press his buttons. He wanted a drink. He stared after her. She didn't look back. The cameras were filming. Trick Shot was the next one up. He saw the whole thing. If Low Light was a father figure then Janack was a pseudo-mother. She was patient and quiet. Not a lot bothered her. She corrected his mistakes in a way that he wasn't embarrassed. She was the one that explained the difference between a clean target and one that was sloppy. In a way she was like his mother. Sharon Dixon behaved the same way. Low Light taught him the mechanics of his sniping rifle but Janack taught him the reason why. To see them fighting put him right in the middle. He didn't want to be.

Janack went to the Hum Vee. Her gear was set up. They left Cheyenne Mountain behind once Trick Shot took his mark. It was simple enough. In the end they were the front runners. That wasn't the way it would be filmed though. Trevor Jack was the one that stood out. As it stood Trick Shot and God had the lead. Then it was Janack. Behind them was Barrel Roll and Blackout. They were on their way to Kirtland. The caravan moved out. It would be a two day drive to New Mexico.

Low Light loosened the ties on his bike. He needed to get away. The best time was when he was on his bike. No one bothered him. It was just him and the highway. He cranked the ropes that held his Harley Davidson Road King. They flapped on the ground. Next to his God's Soft Tail was strapped to the trailer. The man walked up.

"Your kid is pretty good." God said.

Low Light unstrapped his bike. "He's not"

"Your kid. I heard." God said. "It's a good night for a ride. How far are you going?"

"I don't know. I guess until 191." Low Light said. He leaned against the bike and walked it down the ramp. The kickstand was up and the run switch was down. He twisted the knob until it was set to run. He started it. It turned over with a loud roar. There was no sound like the sound of a Harley revving to take off. Low Light hooked his legs over. He pressed the kickstand up with his ankle. The bike was ready to go. "I heard we're going to stop in Crescent Junction for the night." He said.

He looked behind him. When he rode the bike his head was on a pivot. The gates were open. He put it in first. The bike responded. "See you later Pete." Low Light said.

The caravan followed him.

The highway twisted and turned. It was perfect for a motorcycle ride. Low Light went with it. His bike responded to the curves. The sun was setting to the West. He was heading south towards Kirtland. Beside him the mountains and trees followed. When he hit 191 he slowed. It was another six hours until they would make it to the Air Force Base. He stopped in front of a motel. It was off the highway. He was ready to call it a night. His bike was running hot and the night was dark. He waited until he had the all clear from the team. Beachhead and Cover Girl parked in front of a motel room. They walked around the back to put their things away. Low Light sat on his bike.

They went to their room. That was the way it was going to be.

In the back seat Trick Shot and Janack got out. Trick Shot was supposed to room with Ehrenstein. That was the way it was set up. Ehrenstein and Lifeline took their room. They were talking. They seemed to get along. Trick Shot put his luggage in with Barrel Roll. That left Low Light with Janack. He didn't want to join her. He hit the kill switch. He followed. Janack left the door open.

She didn't wait before she went to the bathroom. Outside Trick Shot was texting Firewall. She was laughing. She had the newest episode of American Sniper.

"OMFG Trick wait until you see it!" She wrote. "Low Light is gonna be so PISSED! LMFAO!"

"What? What Michelle?" Trick Shot wrote.

"LOL hold on I'm gonna send it! Dying laughing!" Firewall typed. "You ready?" She said.

It took about three minutes before the hazy film came through on Skype. In it Dial Tone sent the newest episode of American Sniper. It showed Trevor Jack in the beginning and then the women jogging in slow motion. Cover Girl Janack and the Cuban woman consumed the camera. It switched to night time. Low Light was clearly visible by the American Flag when Janack walked up. Her hair was wet. She touched his arm.

"Come with me Low Light. Let's go to bed." She whispered. She held his elbow. He looked over at her. His face was vacant.

The camera crew followed until the barrack doors. That was when they showed him going inside with Janack.

The next shot showed him coming out of the room. The sun was up. Low Light walked up with Trick Shot and Janack. It showed Janack walking up to take her shot. The camera panned to Low Light. In the camera he gave his thumbs up. They walked away. The sun made a halo out of Janack's blond hair. She looked up to him. He bent down. The woman he kissed looked a lot like Janack from behind. She held onto his neck. He grabbed her wrists. They stared at each other.

"There is no one else." Low Light said.

"Come to my room tonight." Janack said.

On his phone Hawk was dialing.

He had a lot of explaining to do.

End Chapter Fifteen

She's Got You

What country song is complete without Patsy Cline


	16. Chapter 16

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in twenty chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes On Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Sixteen

Holding Her and Loving You

2200

PJ Knight sat in his boardroom looking over a large mahogany and ivory chess board. In his hand he held a black knight. He turned it over and over with his index finger and thumb while he thought. The spaces on the board were becoming dangerously thin. All of the pieces on the board were advancing. PJ Knight had lost four. Already there was an opening towards his Black Queen. She was alone and vulnerable. He placed his black knight to her left side. In front of it was a white knight flanking on the left. He rode on a rearing horse holding his sword in the air as if to strike. Next to it stood the white rook. It wasn't a particularly important piece in the wrong hands. Its moves were calculated to drive the Knights forward. If he could disable the rook the white Knight would collapse. The rest would fall like dominos. Behind the rook the White Queen took to the field. PJ Knight was faced with two white Knights and the rook. The Queen was following. He picked up four of his pawns and put them aside. The Iraqi Military Police, the Two Germans, and now the Cuban woman stood at the edge of the board out of play. PJ Knight stood up. He stretched his back. He had twenty moves still left on the board. Hawk hadn't seen the last of him yet. He turned off all but the light over the chess board. In the empty room it waited until the game would begin again.

In Utah General Hawk watched a computer screen. It was as he thought. His soldiers didn't give up on one of their own that easily. He could tell by what Beachhead wasn't saying. Their text messages dwindled. General Hawk had his suspicions. Although he was disappointed he couldn't deny the fact that his Joe's were adults. No matter how much he wanted to take them over his knee they had the right to make their own decisions. They could make their own mistakes. Right now he could order Low Light back to base. That would mean conceding to PJ Knight. He would lose his best sniper of the competition. On his computer he watched Low Light kiss his female night sniper. He always knew about Flint and Lady Jaye. They didn't bother to hide it. With Snake Eyes and Scarlet he wasn't going to be the one breaking them up. Then it was Beachhead and Cover Girl. That one took him by surprise. They seemed to do nothing but fight. When he finally realized it he had to admit they made a strong couple. They were both not afraid to speak their minds. With Low Light and Janack he could see it ending messy. His night sniper was moody and unpredictable. He stayed by himself. He had a long reputation at being places he shouldn't be. Hawk knew about Nebraska. He commanded a base full of men of course he did. He drank too much. And when he drank he got mean and belligerent. He slept too little. His night terrors alone would send any potential girlfriend away. General Hawk honestly felt that Janack was too good for him. Low Light would give her nothing but trouble and a broken heart. It had to stop for their own good.

When Main Frame, Dial Tone, and Firewall knocked on the door General Hawk let them in. They saluted. He was still watching the film. He looked up and waved them to their chairs.

"I think you know why I called you in here." General Hawk said. He turned the screen around so they could see it. "This was sent to my private email account. My private encrypted email account." He added. They leaned forward.

The way Firewall shifted and moved gave away how young she really was. The experienced Joe's didn't squirm. They looked at the screen. He started the file again. "With all due respect General Hawk I don't believe that is Janack." Firewall pointed out. "First of all her clothes are all wrong." She stopped the film and circled it on her tab. Hawk had a view of it on the big screen.

"Second of all what you _can _see is nothing like Janack. She's smaller and umm, she has little, you know." Firewall continued.

Dial Tone spoke up. "She doesn't have the same body type." He said.

General Hawk nodded. "I get that. But there is still a woman playing tonsil hockey with my sniper." He said.

"And I can say with ninety-nine percent accuracy it is not a Dreadnok." Main Frame said. "I ran the system scan. These aren't Dreadnoks. It doesn't have the feel of Cobra."

"So they're new players. That's interesting." General Hawk said. "You all agree on this?" He asked.

They looked around and nodded at each other. He picked up his phone. "You can leave now. Thank you for the information." He said. PJ Knight was manipulating the game and playing dirty. There was only one reason why. He hit speed dial to his sniper.

Low Light was standing in front of the open door to Janack's motel room. He didn't know if he should go inside or not. God was twenty minutes away in the RV. The twists and turns set him behind. Mary was with him. He could hear Janack in the bathroom setting toiletries aside. When she started the shower Low Light closed the door. He doubled up the flat pillows so he could sit up in bed. He took off his boots and socks. He had a habit of folding the cuffs over so his socks wouldn't get lost and stuffing them in his right boot. He put them at the foot of the bed. Janack came out with a towel drying her hair. She wore her knit tank top and white underwear. She smelled the same like Dial Soap and clean hair. She took one look at him and clenched her jaw.

"Relax Janack I'm not staying." Low Light said. He stood up and pulled his T-shirt over his head. "You can have your room all to yourself as soon as I'm done."

"I bet you have a lot of experience saying that." Janack spit. "Good. I am glad. You should be clean for your little girlfriend. One of you should be." She folded the towel over the back of the chair to dry.

"She's not my girlfriend." Low Light mumbled.

His belt was unbuckled and hung down his hips. There was a blond trail of hair above and below his belly button that ended at the band of his boxers. He turned around towards the bathroom. Janack could see his tattoos and the muscles of his back. He had two dimples right above his waistline. She looked away and turned on the TV. The man was an asshole when he drank. He was mean and paranoid. He wasn't friendly on a good day. He especially wasn't friendly with people he didn't know. As far as Janack knew Beachhead was the only one he talked to. She pulled the covers up and snuggled in. His words still hurt.

When Low Light came back out he didn't have his goggles on. He looked at her briefly. He had grey eyes. His hair was wet. He didn't bother talking to her. He put his shirt back on and tied his boots. He left before she knew it. He would spend the night drinking with God and Mary.

That was when his phone rang. He felt a pit in his stomach as soon as he saw who it was. If General Hawk was calling it couldn't be good news. He answered the phone on the fourth ring.

"This is Low Light General Hawk Sir." He said.

"MacBride. Your rank and title is MacBride Private First Class. Do not forget that." Hawk said.

"Yes Sir this is MacBride Sir." He finished.

In a way it was good to be off base. He could forget being a greenshirt. He could forget Brooks and Popelka. He could forget being confined to base. He could forget being caged in on orders. He could forget it all. For once it was as if the entire year never happened. A whiskey and beer never tasted so good. A woman never smelled so sweet. He was finally relieved. It felt good. That all disappeared with the voice on the other end. It brought him back to what his reality truly was.

"Very well MacBride. You know why I'm calling." He said. "You're crossing into dangerous territory son. I don't have to remind you of the policies and procedures. I think you of all people should know. I also know you're an adult and can make your own decisions. I might not like it but short of ordering you back to base you haven't compromised your teammates. I know Pete. I knew him before you were his apprentice. He was the best there was. There's no denying that. I also know you're acting too much like him." He said.

"Yes Sir General Hawk." Low Light said. "I made an accusation I shouldn't have." He said. "The rest is up to Janack. General Hawk?" He asked.

"Yes?"

"I didn't hit her Sir. It's not my business to say Sir but I didn't ask and she didn't tell." He said.

There was a silence on the end of the line. Low Light heard General Hawk snort. Then he gave a low chuckle. "Janack isn't gay MacBride." Hawk said. "I have her jacket right here. That isn't why I called. I already talked to Janack. I've been keeping in touch with Beachhead. He has some concerns that you're falling into your old pattern."

There was a pause. "MacBride."

"Yes Sir General Hawk?" Low Light said.

"Be careful who you trust out there." Hawk said. "If anything you can trust Beachhead."

"Yes Sir." Low Light said.

They hung up the phone. For two years he assumed the female night sniper was gay. She never went out. She never had boyfriends. She didn't flirt. She didn't talk about men. She didn't have female friends that he knew of either. He looked back at Janack's room. For the past forty-eight hours he's been giving her a private parade. He cringed inwardly. He owed her an apology. He couldn't bring himself to go back. It wasn't as if there was a Hallmark Card with a sad cat face that said 'I'm sorry I thought you were gay for the last two years. Let's be friend's heart-heart'. He looked over to Beachhead's room. He wasn't about to knock on his door either. General Hawk didn't need to know. If he did it wouldn't be from him. He leaned against the wall and waited for God's RV. He could really use a beer. He ran his fingers through his hair.

In the end he didn't have to. Trick Shot was going down the hallway knocking on doors. Lifeline, Barrel Roll and Ehrenstein looked out. Janack still had her tank top on. Beachhead had pajama bottoms on and a toothbrush in his mouth.

"This better be good." He said.

"Oh it's good alright!" Trick Shot said. "Low Light you need to see this. So do you Janack." He said.

Janack pulled an oversized Army T-shirt over her head. Lifeline wore a powder blue pajama set with a button shirt and pants. Ehrenstein and he were putting their glasses on. Barrel Roll was still awake. He and Low Light had their civilian clothes on. They went to Beachhead's room. Cover Girl was hiding in the bathroom. She poked her hand out of the cracked door. Beachhead threw one of his T-shirts at her.

"Come on Cover Girl. You have to see this." Trick Shot said.

"Just a minute!" She said.

Low Light snorted. Beachhead only had to look at him before he covered his smirk with his hand. He coughed.

"I see what Janack's wearing too." Beachhead said.

After that Low Light stayed quiet.

On the lap top Trick Shot started Firewall's file. It started out the same as every episode of American Sniper. It showed the group photograph of the snipers and then individual shots with their names. In between were one and two second highlights. This time it showed the women running. The Cheyenne Mountain soldiers were behind them. It showed Beachhead run up. It looked like he was yelling at the women. The screen ended with Trevor Jack walking in slow motion with his sniping rifle in his hand. There was an explosion behind him.

At the party it showed the snipers enjoying dinner with the soldiers. It looked like they were having a good time. The microphone picked up on some of the conversation. Barrel Roll was explaining his strategy and who he would take out. The camera panned over to Blackout. It showed some further excerpts from the party before the scene changed to outside. It was dark. Low Light was walking along the perimeter. He had his cap and goggles on. From this point of view he didn't look drunk. He passed a few soldiers before he came to the American Flag. Janack walked up behind him. She had a T-shirt and jeans on. Her hair was wet. She took his elbow gently.

"Come with me Low Light. Let's go to bed." The TV Janack whispered. Her voice was husky and low. It emphasized her accent. It was sexy. The camera followed to her room.

The next scene showed them leaving in the morning. The Cuban woman took her shot. It showed Low Light squatting next to Janack. He patted her shoulder. They stood up until they were in front of the mountains. The sun was in Janack's hair. They couldn't hear what they were saying. The subtitles said:

"Give me a kiss for luck?"

The woman that kissed him had her arms around his neck. Her fingers were in his hair. Her face was blocked. It appeared to be Janack. The TV Janack and Low Light looked at each other on the screen. She held onto his neck. Low Light unwrapped the woman's' arms and grabbed her wrists. They stared at each other.

"There is no one else." Low Light said.

"Come to my room tonight." Janack said.

The final scene was Janack making the shot at eighteen hundred yards. Everyone came over to congratulate her. The camera moved to Low Light. He held up his thumb giving a half smile. That was when Trevor Jack came over to interview her. Trick Shot stopped the file. On Cover Girl's bed Janack had her legs up and the T-shirt over her knees. She held her chin in her palm. Her fingers were by her mouth. Her eyes were wide and watery. She looked close to tears. Low Light was sitting at the end of the bed. His feet were on the floor. He laid down and put his hands to his eyes. He wiped them down his face. He didn't want to see any more. He looked at the ceiling instead.

"Alright I think that's enough for now Trick Shot." Beachhead said. He closed the lid of the lap top.

Beside her Cover Girl was trying to give reassurance. Janack just shook her head.

"Look what they did with me." Cover Girl said. "They edited everything that happened to make it look like I was some token poster girl for them." She said. "I spent ten minutes with that Trevor Jack and now my boobs are splashed on every poster for American Sniper. I should get royalties. I should get two of them. That's one for each boob."

That made Beachhead growl. Cover Girl waved it off. It wasn't anything new to her. But Janack stood up. She straightened her T-shirt. Everyone was staring at her. She toughened herself. On the bed Low Light was hiding his face. Janack left the room with everyone watching her go. She didn't want to look in their eyes.

"Well." Beachhead said. He pulled Low Light's hand down. "Go after her dipshit. You owe her that much. We'll talk about this later."

Low Light got up. He wasn't the only one that was shocked it seemed. Trick Shot didn't look up. Ehrenstein and Lifeline were speechless. Barrel Roll grunted. "I should have figured it was you. Janack never gave me the time of day." He said. "Now I know why."

Low Light looked around the room. They were all expecting him to do something.

He went to open the door. They were still looking at him. He closed the door. It latched with a soft click.

He stood in front of Janack's motel room. He had a lot to say. He put his hand to the door. He bent his head. He heard an engine behind him. His head turned.

God pulled up in the RV. Mary came down the stairs. She had the bottle of whiskey in her hands.

She smiled.

"Hey Hey the gangs all here!" God said. "Let's get this party started!"

Low Light turned around and went to the RV.

End Chapter Sixteen

Holding Her and Loving You

That was for Winterhalt and MamaBird. These chapters have been fun to write.

Sincerely KSlycke


	17. Chapter 17

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in twenty chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes On Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Seventeen

Good Hearted Woman

2308

Low Light and Mary took up the concrete aisle that connected the motel rooms' doors. Tonight he didn't bother to hide when he took a drink of whiskey. Mary hung to his right side like tar paper. Her knees were spread wide around his right leg. She had her arms around his neck. She was swaying. Her face was pressed into his cheek. God leaned against the beam that separated the first floor from the top floor. He was texting someone. He didn't pay any attention. As far as he was concerned Mary was doing her job. Around them the Joe's were going back to their rooms. Lifeline passed by without a word. Ehrenstein squeaked out an 'excuse me' when Mary accidentally stepped into him. She turned around and laughed at him. His cheeks were red. He put his head down and walked after Lifeline. No one wanted to look at them. Low Light brushed it off the best he could in whiskey and beer. His eyes went to the closed door.

When Barrel Roll walked by he stopped. "Can I talk to you a minute Low Light?" He said.

Mary lifted her head from Low Light's shoulder. "Alone?" Barrel Roll said.

Low Light peeled himself away. They walked a short distance away out of ear shot. Both of them looked around to see if any hidden cameras were recording or film crew was around. They both now knew that everything they said _could _be used against them. Low Light was especially aware. Tonight was a prime example. Low Light stood to the side and waited for Barrel Roll.

"Don't start lecturing me Barrel Roll." Low Light started. "I get enough of that from Beach." He said.

"Don't worry I won't." He said. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Low Light knew him well enough that it was what he did when he was nervous. "That was some video of you tonight huh Low Light?" Barrel Roll said.

Low Light shook his head. "It's not what you think Barrel Roll. That's not the way it happened." He said.

"Oh I know." Barrel Roll replied. "I could tell by the film. There's no way that was Vorona." He said. He held his hands out in front of his chest. "I'm surprised no one else noticed."

"Who's Vorona?" Low Light said.

Barrel Roll laughed. "Vorona is Janack." He said. "It means 'Crow' in Czechoslovakia. Don't you know anything?"

"I never made it my business to." Low Light said.

"Well you should. She's been a part of our team for two years." Barrel Roll said. He shook his head. He was grinning. "You mean to tell me you never once looked?"

Low Light shrugged. "She's my co-worker. I never paid any attention." He said. "She does her job."

Barrel Roll smiled. "Good grief with that kind of body and all you can say is 'she does her job'?" He said. His head shook even more. "I can't believe this. I mean all this time I figured she was going after you. She wouldn't even look my way. You guys took turns on the roof and everything! You used to do your whole Snake Eyes sign language thing in your scopes on slow nights."

"Yeah well I had my reasons. I just figured she was gay." Low Light said.

The laugh barked around the motel and out towards the highway. Mary and God looked up from around the corner. "Janack isn't gay!" Barrel Roll said. "Christ Behold and to think I backed off over a year ago because of you. This makes it even better."

He smiled wide enough that his teeth were showing.

"Makes what better?" Low Light asked.

Barrel Roll turned around.

"Where are you going?"

Barrel Roll slapped his shoulder. "I'm going to do what you won't." He said. "Right now Janack out ranks you but we're both Enlisted. Not even Beachhead or Hawk himself can say anything." He lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers. "You two have fun!"

Low Light snorted.

Low Light followed up to and until Barrel Roll reached the closed door. When he knocked Janack opened it. Her eyes were swollen and puffy. She had the over sized Army T-shirt on. She looked behind Barrel Roll at Low Light. The light inside the room glowed around the T-shirt. It was like an x-ray. They could see her figure through it. Barrel Roll turned his head to where Janack was watching. On the sidewalk Mary was giggling and skipping his way. She threw her arms around his neck.

"There you are!" Mary said. "I thought I'd have to drink alone!" She sloshed the bottle around in his face.

Janack held Barrel Roll's hand. He didn't stop. She closed the door behind him. Barrel Roll would be the one to comfort her tonight. He would probably say nice things. She would cry. He would listen. He would hold her in his arms. When he took her to bed he would be patient and kind. He would see her face. He would kiss her. And when they fell asleep he would stay. Barrel Roll would do all of the things Low Light didn't. He shouldn't be jealous. Janack was entitled to it. She waited a long time. It might even develop into something more. He should be wishing them luck. Instead he had Mary wrapped around his neck.

God held up his Knight Business Credit Card. Mary squealed and took it. "Don't worry kid you still have a place to stay courtesy of Knight Armament." He smiled. "I told you I would take care of you."

Low Light woke up in one of those panics where he didn't know where he was or what he did. Mary was beside him with her back turned. He could see the bones in her scapula. Her vertebrae stood out. She was asleep. The sun was shining. The motel clock flashed eleven AM. The cleaning lady was knocking on the door. He eased into his jeans. His head hurt. There were some deep scratches on his back. When he turned the scabs opened. They started bleeding anew. He opened the door. The sun hit him like a bolt of lightning. Mary groaned. The bottle of whiskey was empty. The little Vietnamese lady looked irritated.

"You go. You go now. I clean. You go now." She said. For a tiny thing her fingers dug into his chest. Low Light loomed over her. His face hurt. His whole body hurt. He nodded half asleep with his jaw slack open. There were no other cars in the parking lot. God's RV was gone. Only his Harley Davidson Road King took up the end. His phone flashed messages.

0822: 'We're getting ready to go. Are you coming?' Trick Shot

0841: 'That was some night last night! Don't worry Mac I told the Boy Scout I'd wait.' God

0851: 'We Left Without You We'll Meet You At Kirtland' Beachhead

Low Light didn't need to hear his voice to see the tension. Even on his messages Beachhead had a way of getting his point across.

0923: 'Well you're both beating and breathing. See you when you wake up. I said you wouldn't have nightmares' God

1033: 'We're here. Where are you? Are you going to be able to make it?" Trick Shot

Low Light typed.

1112: 'oN my way/ ILL be ther'

He gave Mary the helmet. She put her hands around his waist. When he took off he broke the speed limit. He didn't have time to obey traffic laws. Trick Shot was waiting for him at Kirtland. If he was fast he could make it before the one PM face off. He cussed for the fifth time that day. He promised the kid he would be there. He trusted him. They were an unstoppable team. Now he was going down a road he didn't want to follow. God was right. Trick Shot was slowly but surely becoming his kid. Low Light still remembered his face when he introduced them. He was star struck. Low Light went through a few months of it himself. When Dixon started to realize he didn't piss gold dust he could teach the kid a thing or two. He was the same way with God.

"Are you going to introduce me to your kid?" God said.

"He's not my kid Pete."

"Bullshit. They all are once you take them in." He said.

The kid depended on him. For once in his life Low Light didn't want to let him down. He opened the throttle to sixth gear and sped up. He saw the black and white pull out in a spray in gravel as soon as he came out of the turn. He was twenty miles away. The flashers turned blue and white. He had no choice. He pulled over. It was twelve forty-five. He wouldn't make it. Low Light hung his head and slumped in his seat.

Trick Shot was waiting behind Janack. He had his KA 120 in his hand. It wasn't set up. He looked at his phone. Janack sighed.

"Let us face it Trick Shot. Low Light is not going to show up." She said.

Trick Shot nodded. Up until now he hadn't made a shot on his own. He always had Low Light to depend on. At the side Beachhead walked over. He was still the voice of authority while the Joe's travelled. His face was grim. Cover Girl was by him. She had a way of calming him down when his temper took hold. Sometimes even she couldn't control it. Today was one of those days. Beachhead was mad. He gathered the snipers around. They closed ranks. Beachhead made it clear that their conversation would not be filmed or recorded. The crew left. Kirtland was in the middle of New Mexico. It was still mountainous although it was warmer. The difference between Cheyenne Mountain and Kirtland was obvious. The Southern Climate showed. It was warm in the middle of the afternoon. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

"Nothing has changed." Beachhead said. "Janack you're still going first. After you Barrel Roll goes up against Blackout."

Barrel Roll nodded. He squeezed Janack's hand. It didn't go unnoticed by Beachhead.

He paused and looked at Trick Shot. "At the end you take your shot Trick Shot." He said.

The group was silent. Trick Shot spoke up. "Beachhead" He asked.

"Yeah" Beachhead said.

"Where is Low Light?" Trick Shot said.

Beachhead shook his head. "I don't know Trick Shot. I honestly don't know." He said.

Trick Shot nodded. He tried to keep the disappointment from his face. He failed. It was Janack and Barrel Roll that came over. Barrel Roll took out his best Leupold scope. Janack volunteered to be his spotter. On the first range God and Trevor Jack were discussing tactics. God took out his high density high sunlight scope. The sun was high. It would mess with the shadows. Trevor Jack had a KA 120. This time it would be machine versus machine. That would be the test to see who the best sniper was. Trick Shot and Trevor Jack used the same sniping rifle. They used the same scope. Now it was a matter of who could shoot the furthest with the most accuracy. Without Low Light Trick Shot felt vulnerable.

"I don't have his scope." Trick Shot whispered.

"You do not need Low Light's scope. This does not change anything Trick Shot." Janack said. "The only competition you have is your bullet and the target. Do not think of them." She said. She would know. She was the first female sniper to qualify in six seasons of American Sniper.

"The target is two thousand and one yards. The degrees are twenty percent. I am adjusting for sun conditions. The wind is still."

He breathed. He could see the circle clearly in the Leupold. He blinked. He tried to visualize the bullet on center. Janack was a great spotter. She guided him to the most accuracy. He was still in the forefront. His shot was past two thousand yards. The target was pierced a half an inch from middle. Janack was smiling even before the cameras confirmed the hit. She could see the bullet waver as it hit. They both stood up. Trick Shot was grinning from ear to ear. He lifted her up in the air as she laughed. Barrel Roll clapped him on the back. It was the first shot he did on his own and he won.

God came over while Trevor Jack did his commentary. He was smiling. He held out his hand.

"That was a great shot there son. If I didn't know better I'd say you were a natural." He said. "There's only one natural I've seen."

They shook hands. It was two-thirty PM. Low Light and Mary pulled in with a whine of the Road King. He pulled up next to the RV and got off. He didn't wait for Mary. The Joe's watched him come up.

Janack turned around.

Barrel Roll followed her.

Trick Shot took one look and put his sniping rifle away. He joined Janack and Barrel Roll.

At the end the only ones left were God and Beachhead.

End Chapter Seventeen

Good Hearted Woman

Yeah I'm an asshole


	18. Chapter 18

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Eighteen

To Beat The Devil

1443

The sun was high over the Chihuahuan Desert. The air was motionless. The sky around them was a portrait of porcelain blue. The natives were thankful for it. The winds of New Mexico could blow dust devils that reached two hundred feet or more. In a lot of ways it was no different than a hundred or even a hundred and fifty years ago during the land rush that brought cowboys and bandits along the Santa Fe and Atchison Railroad in 1880. The Isleta Native Americans around Albuquerque still wore red bandanas and brown hemp cloth masks to keep the dirt and dust out of their nose and mouth. The Ocotillo trees stood dry like a collection of skeletal fingers pointing accusingly at the Heavens. In the distance the Sandia and Sangre de Cristo Mountains rose to elevations of 6,000 feet. At this time of year there was a powdering of snow at the peaks. It contrasted deep to the barren and bleak earth that came speckled with prickly pear cactus and cholla. The Blood of Christ Mountains as they were called came from the red hue that rose from sunrise to sunset. They were the only witnesses to the three men standing silently below them.

Low Light stood in the middle of a Tribeca between God and Beachhead. Their long shadows reached to each other like ancient enemies. Low Light wanted nothing less than to avoid another sermon from his Drill Sergeant. He looked skyward and stretched his arms out in a cross. Overhead a murder of crows circled like an affliction on a clear landscape. They stared down with a caw of black eyes.

"I know Beachhead. I fucked up." He said.

His panic and the rush to get to Kirtland sobered his mind in a way no amount of caffeine could. He dropped his arms to the side hard enough for them to make a clap in the quiet of the common area. It echoed as loud as thunder. The crows panicked and cawed leaving a trail of black feathers floating in a lazy circle downward.

"You did more than fuck up Cooper. You betrayed a trust." Beachhead said. "That is in direct opposition to being a Joe. You are part of an elite unit. A betrayal of trust is a betrayal to your team. You were drunk. You behaved in a way unbecoming of the military code of ethics and standards. I am damn near close to writing a report to General Hawk myself." He said. "As of now you are confined to barracks regardless of if Trick Shot is there or not. You will do nothing without my express permission. I don't care if I have to chain you to my ankle you will go nowhere. Is that understood?"

Low Light nodded. He didn't have words. No explanation or excuse could justify his actions. It was as if he was in Purgatory awaiting sentencing. The surroundings showed it.

"Get out of here." Beachhead said. He pointed behind him to where the barracks stood tan and bare camouflaged by the desert. It was a bleak backdrop to the importance of what was about to happen.

"Hey wait just a second there Staff." God said.

He came up dangerously close in a way that invaded the Drill Sergeant's personal space. God met his eyes the same way he did the first time he met him at Grand Junction. He didn't like him then and he didn't like him now. He didn't bother to hide it.

Beachhead glared at him. God only held up his hands in a placating manner. Low Light stopped. It was as if he was trying to explain a complicated concept to a mentally challenged adult. It was manipulative and condescending. More importantly in no way was he at fault or apologetic. Beachhead saw it before. It was a deep prejudice of people based upon his Southern accent and upbringing in Alabama. People assumed he was ignorant and uneducated. They soon found out otherwise. Beachhead was fiercely intelligent and brutally protective of his friends. His soldiers would follow him to the ends of the Earth if they had to. It was the reason General Hawk trusted him.

"Come on now I said I'd stay and watch over Mac this morning and I did." God said. "He was doing pretty damn well when I left. He had a good nights' sleep and a warm woman next to him. What more do you want?"

Beachhead pointed his finger. "I _want_ you to leave Cooper the Hell alone for one. I _want_ you and that whore of yours to get out of his life." He said. "He was doing just fine before you showed up." He said.

God never broke eye contact or turned his back. Serpents seldom did. He jerked his thumb towards Low Light. He was talking to him but he was looking at Beachhead. "Can you believe this guy Mac? I tell you what if you ever get tired of the Preacher telling you what to do and running your life there's always a spot for you with Knight Armament." He said.

Beachhead crossed his arms. He glared equally defiantly. Low Light felt caught in the middle of a fight he didn't choose. On the one hand he was ordered back to the barracks where he knew Trick Shot and Janack were waiting for him. He didn't want to face their disappointed looks. He let them both down in a way that humiliated him. On the other hand was a freedom of choice and free will that dangled in his eyes with temptation. It had the look of pale white skin and smooth thighs that would open at the hint of a Jack Daniels and Budweiser. The green eyes looked directly at him. Mary smiled with an enticement like forbidden fruit. He looked away.

Beachhead took the chance of breaking eye contact with God and glanced over his shoulder. His arms were still crossed. He grunted. "If you leave now don't bother coming back Cooper. You don't have to re-up ever again." He said. "The only thing you'll lose is twenty years. It's up to you. Make your choice."

Low Light was fresh out of Sierra Gordo before he was deployed to the Hindu Kush region between Afghanistan and Pakistan. It was 1994 and the Taliban were making their push towards Jalalabad and the interior around Kabul. It was the area best known for Alexander the Great and the poem The Charge of the Light Brigade by Alfred Lord Tennyson and his into the Valley of Death Rode the Six Hundred. The news would report that it was an extremist religious organization raging a holy war against the West. They were determined to establish traditional Islamic ideals in the region. The truth was that the same Imams spouting five daily prayers controlled local tribal chieftains dealing in heroin and poppies. It was a drug war then and it was a drug war now. The power and finances were not a part of their religion but a part of their economy. They didn't want to give it up. It was far too lucrative for even the most devout to ignore.

Low Light came back to the States trading one drug war in South America for another one in a little known country that was yet to explode in the collapse of the Twin Towers seven years later. Even then he knew he would be back. He just didn't know it would be with the devastation that was 9-11. That was when he met a hard assed Drill Sergeant they called Beachhead. He didn't know why he was assigned to the Sergeant's room. For the first year they never saw each other except in passing. In the next two to five years they barely spoke unless it was his mandatory PT sessions. Low Light tolerated Beachhead and on his part Beachhead didn't delve into his personal life. His days were troubled and his nights were filled by a bottle. On his weekends he could be found on Nebraska. Beachhead didn't question it.

Then came the inevitable time when Low Light's nightmares would take hold. That was when he would wake up in a cold sweat with a hoarse cry at his throat. The disorientation was like a dark velvet curtain surrounding him until Beachhead would shake him awake. His was the face he would see when he came up from the black. Through it all Beachhead never said a word. And over the years Low Light learned to trust him when he closed his eyes. He knew he was safe.

He looked at the man now. Beachhead was dug firmly in the ground. It was his name. He lived up to it. He wasn't going to give up until he had an answer. He stood tall against God and Mary. It was quiet. The American Flag was flaccid against the lack of wind. God was in front of him. Behind Beachhead Mary shifted on her high heeled boots. She had his aviators on. The mirrored surface showed the scene in front of him. The red white and blue colors reflected in a distorted version of the two men. Low Light walked up.

He gave a salute. He turned around. He went to the barracks.

Beachhead waited. He wasn't about to turn his back. It wasn't over between him and God. Mary strode up between them. Her hips swished when she walked past him. Her left ankle bent when she stepped into a snake hole. She leaned herself against God. She put her hand to his chest with her ear on his arm. God smirked.

"I wouldn't do a victory dance just yet Preacher Man. This isn't over." He said.

He put his arm around Mary. It was three thirty PM. The afternoon clouds were rolling in. The winds started to blow. The sun would set in little under two hours. Around them the desert life prepared. It looked like rain. The cactus opened their blossoms to welcome it. Beachhead's shadow became smaller and smaller. The American Flag flapped once and then twice. This morning's soldiers were returning from maneuvers. They looked at Mary with lust and God and Beachhead with curiosity. They were as exhausted as Beachhead felt. He turned around.

"I'll be waiting for it." Beachhead said.

He walked away. His figure diminished the closer he came until he was swallowed under the dim shadows of the barracks. God watched him go inside before he opened his phone. He shoved Mary aside. She sighed.

"Hey PJ. It's Pete. We have a problem." God said.

"The kid didn't go for it."

"No it's that damn boy scout of Hawk's." He said.

"I think it's time he was off the board."

"He won't go down easy."

"Listen to me PJ. It's not over yet." He said.

"Wait. Wait. Who do you know in Washington?"

"Uh huh. General Rey will do. He's a big fan."

"Yeah send him out. That'll teach the Staff a thing or two." God said. "And Hawk."

"I guarantee you if you do this you'll not only have the scope but two snipers to add to your cap."

"Nope. It's the blond. And I have proof." He said.

"Yeah Washington is going to have a field day with this one. Even Hawk won't be able to hide from it."

"The kid will fall into your hands like dominos."

"Trust me PJ. If you get rid of the Preacher you get rid of the kid."

God smiled when he hung up the phone. He turned Mary's head until her mouth was on his. He kissed her. She tasted like whiskey and smelled like cigarettes. He slapped her ass. If Low Light wasn't going to go for it then her employer certainly would. She winced when he hit her. He was rougher than Low Light. She wasn't looking forward to it. She followed at his side until they were at the RV. He shoved her inside. He was already undoing his belt. He closed the bi-fold doors separating the bedroom.

General Hawk read his private email account on the computer. The message that was sent was flagged as high priority. The sender was from someone he was not expecting. It was General Rey. He was a low level Juggler working in Washington DC outside of the Joe's radar. General Hawk thought he knew who all of the Jugglers were. This one came as a surprise. In it showed several pictures of his Drill Sergeant with his Tank Specialist. Hawk was aware of their relationship and now it seemed the Jugglers did too. At the bottom of the email a phantom signature wrote:

"Is this the way that the GI Joe team is run? We are watching you."

It said.

Hawk cussed. PJ Knight was going after his white rook and he knew it. Beachhead was as good as dead. His First Shirt would go down in flames before he would dishonor Cover Girl or threaten her career. He swiped his hands across his desk until the keyboard hit the floor. It bleeped in a loud and annoying alarm as the keys were bent. The sound of it grit on his brain until there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" General Hawk yelled.

A breathless Firewall and Main Frame came in. "General Hawk! General Hawk!" Firewall said.

Hawk had his head beneath the desk trying to shut the damn keyboard up. Firewall came over and picked it up. She plugged it in. The infernal alarm finally stopped. Hawk sat up.

Firewall tapped a few keys until the film of the night before came up on the big screen. Hawk groaned.

"You remember the footage of the night before with Janack and Low Light right?" She said.

"Well we found this." Main Frame added.

On the projector Firewall fast forwarded until Low Light was in front of the American Flag. Janack came up in her blue jeans and T-shirt. Her hair was wet.

Main Frame reached over and put it on pause.

"We found"

"This." Firewall said.

She zoomed in to Low Light's right thigh. His scope was gone.

They looked at General Hawk excitedly.

"Where is Low Light's scope?"

End Chapter Eighteen

To Beat The Devil

To Beat The Devil

By Kris Kristofferson

Bottom of Form

A couple of years back, I come across a great  
And wasted friend of mine in the hallway of a recording studio  
And while he was reciting some poetry to me that he'd written  
I saw that he was about a step away from dyin'  
And I couldn't help but wonder why  
And the lines of this song occurred to me  
I'm happy to say he's no longer wasted and he's got him a good woman And I'd like to dedicate this to John and June  
Who helped show me how to beat the devil

I ain't sayin' I beat the devil, but I drank his beer for nothing  
Then I stole his song

The best line in country music from The Highwayman Kris Kristofferson

Sincerely KSlycke


	19. Chapter 19

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Nineteen

Pancho and Lefty

1620

The Joe's had twenty-four hours of down time before the twelve hour drive to Fort Hood Texas. Their Hum Vee's sat waiting. Low Light's Harley Davidson Road King was parked beside them. They would leave in the morning. In the rec room Janack, Trick Shot, Barrel Roll, Ehrenstein, and Lifeline were laughing. Cover Girl and Beachhead were nowhere to be found. Low Light didn't expect a warm welcome. He let everyone down. It showed on their faces. They stopped laughing. They didn't meet his eyes. Low Light almost turned around. He had nowhere else to go. He opted to find the furthest chair in a corner and sat down. As much as the Joe's were avoiding him Low Light was avoiding them as well. What he wanted was a beer and time to forget. God and Mary were only a few tempting yards away. He took out his copy of A Farewell to Arms instead.

Low Light read the novel a hundred times before but each time he saw things differently. It was worn and the back spine was broken. The copyright said 1929. It was an original. He didn't know the price. He wouldn't sell it. He took it all the way from Crosby North Dakota to South America to Afghanistan and everywhere in between. It was the only possession he had of his mother's and one of the few his father didn't burn. He was in the beginning of the First World War when Frederic Henry first came to Italy as an ambulance corps man when Lifeline walked up. The medic was the last person he expected to see. He put the book away when Catherine Barkley entered.

"How are you feeling?" Lifeline asked. He looked over his glasses. His sincere brown eyes didn't have the shade of analysis that Psyche Out usually had. Unlike Psyche Out when he said it he meant it.

Low Light shrugged. "As good as I can be I guess." He said.

Lifeline nodded. The pause that came after made Low Light look away. "I want you to know that this is to be expected." Lifeline said. "You're going to relapse." He looked over his shoulder. His voice was low. "It's how you deal with it that's important." He said.

Low Light didn't answer.

Lifeline continued. "I had Doc fax over your medical files. Mike sent a list of your pharmacy records. The infirmary was good enough to fill them. I have to tell you that some of the medications you are on you have to take every day. You haven't taken them in four days. It's going to make things worse." He said. "You can't stop taking them. Do you understand that?"

"Yeah I get that Ed. I don't need you to remind me." Low Light said. He tried to keep the bite out of his voice but it was getting hard. It seemed everyone he talked to spoke in a condescending tone as if he were a two year old that needed guidance.

Lifeline agreed. "In that case I think it's a good idea for you to take an Ativan. At least for tonight. It'll take the edge off." He said. "It's only one milligram. The risk of dependency is low at that dose. I already spoke with Beachhead. He doesn't mind staying with you. Tomorrow you can start back on your regular medications."

Low Light lifted his hand. "Don't bother Ed. The guy deserves some time with Cover Girl. I can take care of myself." He said.

Lifeline watched his eyes until he broke away. "Well we all agree you shouldn't be by yourself tonight." Lifeline said. What he wasn't saying is that they didn't trust him not to take off in search of God and Mary. "I'll let Beachhead know. He'll send someone in." He said.

He handed him a white pill smaller than a grain of rice.

When Low Light went to his designated room he turned the shower on hot. He let it hit him until his skin steamed. The mix of heat and Ativan made his body relax. He had a caking of crust around his hips and thighs he scrubbed off. It was the last remnants of Mary. He washed his pubics until his fingers came away clean. He had to wonder about the level of depravity he let himself succumb to. He hadn't felt that way in twenty years. Pete brought it all back. His body wafted with water vapor when he finally emerged half an hour later. The bathroom was full of fog. He wiped the mirror. His grey eyes were bloodshot and half lidded. The Ativan was beginning to work. He heard the canned laughter of late night television coming from the other room.

On the bed Barrel Roll was watching some forgettable talk show host interview the latest star of today. He looked up and turned the volume down.

"It's about damn time. I have to piss like you wouldn't believe." He said.

Low Light grunted. He was in his boxers. His muscles were relaxed. He couldn't feel his feet hit the floor. He sat down on his bed. His body urged him to go to sleep. His brain screamed to keep him awake. It knew the monsters that would await him. Barrel Roll wasn't someone he felt safe being around when the nightmares came marching through. He rubbed his hand across his scalp until the water was thick in his hand. It dripped down his ears and across his back. He sighed.

"I figured you'd be with."

"Janack" Barrel Roll said. "You can forget that." He said."It seems she has this thing for some sniper she knows. There's no way she'd look at me."

He got up and went to the bathroom. The door closed hard behind him. Low Light turned off the TV. He lay his head back on the pillow until it was wet with his hair. The dreams he had were written in black and white. He was alone. He was an adult. He had his Dragunov. The volcanic rock was black against a white sky. He looked around. There was only one path he could take. He began following it. As he passed the scenery showed him pictures of his life. There was the junkyard he was terrified of. His father was standing in a doorway with a bottle in his hands. The blue cracked door to the closet. The black of night and the undeveloped landscape he walked through. He heard laughing. His head turned. There were shadows ahead.

A child's voice like his said "Follow me. Follow me. Follow me" in a repetition.

He walked away.

The closer he came the larger the shadows became. They were marching along a drenched desert. They were talking amongst themselves. They didn't see him. The crows flew over their heads until they blacked out the sky. They didn't notice. He held up his hand as the first crow swooped down to grip at the shadows. They cawed like laughter. They had blue eyes. It was Beachhead. It flew off in a 'hmm imagine that' in his dream. It wasn't until Cover Girl and Trick Shot that Low Light realized what was happening. Their body's silhouette on a sun that was a black and a ground that was white. They didn't look back. The voice said:

"Follow me. Follow me. Follow me."

Low Light stood still. He didn't understand. There were too many paths. He didn't know where to go. He was lost. He looked around in a three hundred sixty degree. He couldn't find anyone. He was alone. In one direction Pete and Mary stood at the edge of his dream. The child voice rang out again.

"Follow me. Follow me. Follow me."

He went down that path. They were laughing. God leaned down to kiss Mary on the mouth. She let him. He grinned and gripped her ass in one giant hand.

"Follow me. Follow me. Follow me."

The child said.

He walked toward it.

Ahead of him God and Mary were waving him forward. They were smiling. The shift in dream was so sudden that Low Light almost woke up. Instead of the black volcanic rock of the desert Low Light saw Spirit standing ahead blocking his path. He was silent and still. His black hair didn't show any wind. He held up his hand.

"Go back. You do not belong here. This is not your realm. You are a child no longer. You do not follow a child. Go back." Spirit said.

Low Light opened his mouth but no sound came out.

"Follow me. Follow me. Follow me."

Spirit clapped his hands. The child voice disappeared. Spirit looked around him. "Go back. The Devil speaks lies. This is not the path you belong." He said.

Spirit clapped his hands again.

The scenery changed. He saw Trick Shot watching the jaguar in the middle of a rain drenched tropical jungle.

"Oh. Wow." He said.

Low Light smiled.

He saw Cover Girl at the Thompson Inn. He waved his left hand as he walked out of the door.

"Oh! My! God!"

She said.

Low Light laughed.

And then he was back to back with Beachhead. They were on Cobra Island. They were surrounded. They thought for sure they would never make it out alive. Beachhead had is two 44's drawn and Low Light had his sniping rifle and 9 millimeter. The Cobra troops were coming in fast. They heard the sound of gunfire outside of the concrete bunker. It was just a matter of time before they were overwhelmed. Low Light put his last round in his rifle. Beachhead undid his clips in one motion until the empty clattered on the ground. His reload was as loud as gunfire. He smiled.

Beachhead didn't laugh. He sang.

Pancho and Left

By Willie Nelson

Livin on the road my friend, is gonna keep you free and clean  
Now you wear your skin like iron

Your breath as hard as kerosene

You weren't your momma's only boy, but her favorite one it seems  
She began to cry when you said goodbye

And sank into your dreams

Pancho was a bandit boy, his horse was fast as polished steel  
He wore his gun outside his pants

For all the honest world to feel

Pancho met his match you know on the deserts down in Mexico  
Nobody heard his dyin words, ah but that's the way it goes

All the Federales say, they could've had him any day

They only let him slip away, out of kindness I suppose  
Lefty he can't sing the blues all night long like he used to

The dust that Pancho bit down south ended up in Lefty's mouth

The day they laid poor Pancho low, Lefty split for Ohio  
Where he got the bread to go, there ain't nobody knows

All the Federales say, they could've had him any day

They only let him slip away out of kindness I suppose  
The boys tell how old Pancho fell, and Lefty's livin in cheap hotels

The desert's quiet, Cleveland's cold

And so the story ends we're told

Pancho needs your prayers it's true, but save a few for Lefty too  
He only did what he had to do, and now he's growing old

All the Federales say, they could've had him any day  
They only let him go so long, out of kindness I suppose

A few gray Federales say, they could've had him any day  
They only let him go so long,

out of kindness I suppose

Low Light woke up for the first time in a long time without the normal fears or hangover that accompanied his nights. He heard Barrel Roll snoring across the room.

It was six AM.

His phone flashed.

0521: WE WON'T FORGET WHAT YOU DID MACBRIDE. WE'RE WATCHING.

End Chapter Nineteen

Pancho and Lefty


	20. Chapter 20

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Twenty

The Fighting Side of Me

0615

General Hawk was awake by five AM. He was in a bad mood. He had enough time to shower and change into his combat fatigues and sheep skin bomber jacket before he met Flint and Lady Jaye at the air field. Firewall was with them. He didn't need his sidearm but for today a show of force would be necessary. He clipped it onto his left thigh. It was cocked and ready just like him. Jaye met him with a stainless steel coffee mug made the way he liked it. She didn't forget. Flint had one of his own. Firewall was sucking on a Red Bull. They saluted when he walked up. It was early for all of them. It was an eight hour flight to Fort Hood Texas. He was meeting General Stern at four PM. It was scheduled to be two hours earlier than General Rey. Hopefully it was enough. Wild Bill took off with a 'Yee Haw' before they could strap themselves to the jump seat.

General Hawk looked at the photographs in his hands. They were taken from a high speed long range lens bordering on an invasion of privacy. It was what the paparazzi would use. He sighed and put them away. PJ Knight was pulling out all the stops if he was involving the Jugglers and General Rey. That meant the Arms dealer was running scared and desperate. The higher ups in Washington would demand an answer. General Hawk chose Flint and Lady Jaye to accompany him for that purpose. They were the picture of a successful end to fraternization. They had a strong healthy marriage despite the multiple protests from his Drill Sergeant. Beachhead was the most vocal critic against it. Now it was his turn. It was no secret his Warrant Officer and Drill Sergeant didn't see eye to eye. General Hawk suspected it was because the two of them were both severely intelligent. It was a challenge. He chose Firewall as his personal liaison for the same reason. He knew the computer specialist wouldn't be able to resist letting his junior sniper know. Already she had her phone in her hand text messaging Trick Shot from the inside of the helicopter. Her phone seemed permanently attached to her hands. General Hawk almost laughed. If this was the way PJ Knight wanted to play then he expected a fight. When he landed at Fort Hood he would have to hit the ground running. The gauntlet was tossed. It was up to Hawk to pick it up. He would have to save his energy for the battle ahead.

General Stern made one final pass of the grounds. In his ear his aid was spewing an endless litany of reports. He ignored it. Ever since he found out General Hawk and General Rey was coming he made it his personal mission to make sure the base was in clean and in working order. His privates he sent scrubbing the barracks and mess hall. He called off his personal chef from her down time to oversee the welcome dinner. The motor pool he ordered to power-wash the runway and the parking area. The trees were trimmed and the lawn was mowed. All of his personnel from basic to senior officers were busy making the base presentable.

As a high profile General he was used to visits by congressmen and Presidents alike. He supposed because Fort Hood was so well known that the higher ups often used it as a backdrop on the campaign trail. General Stern was used to it. When he heard General Hawk was making an appearance his normal high level of inspection was kicked into high gear. The leader of the GI Joe team was known for his high standards. His troops were the best in the World. Now not only was General Hawk paying a visit but General Rey as well. Everything had to be perfect. With any luck General Stern would be the one chosen to replace General Hawk. He eyed his soldiers with a scrutiny he normally reserved for Heads of State. When a tank track was found to have left over dirt on its grooves he ordered its soldiers to scrub it again. His aid was exhausted. It showed on his face. His eyes had dark circles. He replaced him with a fresh young brunette in a French braid and crisp Army hat. He waited. It was two PM. If General Hawk's reputation preceded him then the General would be early,

At ten after two General Stern heard the loud flutter of the transport helicopter. It was as he thought. The pilot belayed his coordinates until he set down. General Hawk ducked beneath the blades as he walked across the tarmac. He held out his hand. General Stern was there to meet him. They shook hands as the General held onto his helmet. Behind him Flint and Lady Jaye stepped down. Flint held his arms up and gripped her waist. She landed with ease. She didn't need his help. Firewall stepped down with all of the confidence of a twenty-something year old. She put her phone away. It was the first time today.

Aside from annual meetings amongst the Generals the two men didn't meet. General Stern had a healthy respect for General Hawk. On his part General Hawk admired Fort Hood's Commander as a man he could trust. The General had a good reputation as a solid leader. He was firm and fair. His background at The Citadel afforded him an entry level into an elite circle that included Admirals and Generals. His path towards the power of a Juggler was as much set in stone. He was equally ally and enemy. General Hawk had to weight if he was with him or standing with General Rey.

"General Hawk it's good to see you." General Stern said,

General Hawk smiled. They saluted each other out of an agreed brotherhood. Between the two of them they strode towards the base. General Stern was followed by the bubbly aid and General Hawk was followed by Flint and Lady Jaye. Firewall walked a healthy distance away. They made small talk.

"It's good to see you as well Bob." General Hawk said. He kept his name informal and on level ground. It wouldn't do him any good to pull rank at this point. "How are Gloria and the kids?" He asked.

Robert Stern was married for twenty five years to Gloria Stern. They had two children in college. The boy Robert Peele Stern the First was a sophomore at his fathers' Alma Mater. His daughter Emma was a senior at Brown studying pre-Med. She would study at John Hopkins in the fall.

"They're as studious as ever." General Stern laughed. "Where they get it is beyond me. They must take after their mother." He said.

As if on cue Gloria Stern walked up. Her powder blue day suit matched tan closed toe high heeled pumps. At her ears a sedate pair of pearl earrings dropped to a white scarf she wore at her neck. She smiled and leaned forward. General Hawk kissed her cheek. Her expensive perfume was one from Paris. She was the kind of woman from any college among Vassar and William and Mary. Her entire being spoke 'Old Money'. She was the kind of woman that was born and bred to be a Senator or General's wife. She was the exact opposite of Sharon Dixon. General Hawk passed her off to Lady Jaye. Alison Hart-Burnett was a graduate of Bryn Mawr. She greeted Gloria Stern as if they were old friends. He walked with General Stern.

"I can't say that when I heard you were showing up I wasn't a bit surprised." General Stern said. His accent was Texan and his manners showed a long ancestry of the West his wife didn't hold. "Then when I heard General Rey was going to be here well I kicked it up like a hoe down at a barn raising."

Hawk laughed. The refreshments they were served came in a chilled bottle of fresh spring water set at each table. There was a mix of fresh field greens and turnips with a slice of lemon at the plate. General Hawk and General Stern sat down. Flint and Lady Jaye were seated at his right side. Lady Jaye took the time to glance over from her conversation with Gloria Stern to squeeze lemon on her salad. Firewall followed along. She looked uncomfortable and out of place. There were far too many napkins and silverware for her to keep track of. Jaye had the decency to tap her salad fork lightly to show her what to do. She breathed a sigh of relief.

The main course was game taken from the hills around Fort Hood. It was a venison stew thick with gravy and chunks of carrot and onion. It was pure Texas fare. His chef made it her point to flavor the dinner with tastes native to General Stern's home state. General Hawk loved it. By the time they cleansed their palate with fruit and sherbet he was relaxed. The soldiers took their plates away and served more fresh spring water.

General Hawk shook his head. "I don't think I have to tell you why I'm here Bob." He said. He pushed his glass away until it was in the middle of the table. "It's my D.S."

General Stern nodded. "Yeah I heard. I can't say that your Drill has a reputation for it Hawk. Hell the name Beachhead is synonymous with fear and the hand of Almighty God from Fort Benning to Fort Hood. I have to admit I've used the name to straighten out some soldiers that were headed towards the back slide myself." He said. "Just the threat of it straightened them out quicker than a firecracker up a coon's ass."

"Then you can see where I have a problem." General Hawk said.

He measured his words carefully. As comfortable as he felt he still didn't know which way General Stern swayed. He could be with him or he could be waiting for General Rey. General Hawk played a dangerous game riding the fine line between friend and foe.

General Stern leaned back. It was the time his wife offered to show Lady Jaye and Firewall the rest of the base. Flint stayed behind. The peppy aid stood up and pushed their chairs in. She would be the one giving the tour of the base. General Hawk and General Stern were by themselves.

"I knew a soldier once." General Stern said. "It was when I was fresh out of the Citadel. This was the Nam you know. That man was the most ignorant and backwards buck private I ever met. I'm betting you what that guy couldn't read a lick to say stop or go to wipe his ass." He shook his head when he remembered.

"You ever meet someone so dumb that they'd just smile and nod when you send them down in a Gook's hole with nothing but a flashlight and prayer. That was him." General Stern said. He laughed.

"Those V.C. were smart though. It come to find out they'd booby trap every damn rat hole we'd find. Every stick, every path, any kind of bamboo leaf you saw. Do you know that idiot still went down." He said. He smiled when he remembered it. "Stupid son of a bitch."

He frowned in a bittersweet smile.

"It wasn't but six months into my commission when that asshole pulled me out. That illiterate son of a bitch carried my ass ten miles to the LZ on his back. And do you know what he did?' General Stern said.

General Hawk shook his head.

"The mother fucker sang! He sang!" General Stern laughed.

"Yeah that was Private First Class Wayne R. Sneeden Sr." He said.

"Your man won't find any trouble here."

End Chapter Twenty

The Fighting Side of Me


	21. Chapter 21

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Twenty One

Drive

1700

Wayne R. Sneeden Sr. was nineteen years old when the official government letter arrived at his father's house in Auburn Alabama. It was 1969 and the height of the Vietnam War. Already a lot of his friend's were drafted almost immediately after graduation. It was only a matter of time before it was his turn. It was a year post the Tet Offensive and Washington DC was running out of options. Robert McNamara's strategy was failing. Traditionally rural America was one of the most patriotic areas for the military. That was where they focused. Any man not in college was drafted or recruited to serve in a country half a world away. This meant the sons of the poor that were unable to afford college or lawyers to defer their enlistment. Movies in later years would show young white men carrying machine guns with helmets on their heads. The truth was Vietnam was a poor man's war. And the poor men were illiterate sons of share farmers from the South and inner city blacks that had to drop out of high school.

He was a too tall skinny white kid used to living hand to mouth. His large hands were calloused from years of farm labor. They could hold a gun as well as any other bullet holder. He read at a fifth grade level. He owned two pairs of overalls and one ill fitting suit his mother bought him from a Sears and Roebuck catalog. On Saturdays the family would take a weekly bath and join the other farmers on the dirt road to the local church. It was their only means of socialization. Until he joined the service Sneeden Sr. never owned a new pair of boots. That Saturday his mother cut his hair with a sharpened pair of sheep shears and a straight razor. When he showed up in his new Army suit and shined shoes the older men shook his hand while their wives cried and blew their noses on handkerchiefs that were grey from too many washings.

He didn't know that in the cities the young people of the time were protesting and demonstrating against the government. He didn't understand it. His country called on him to fulfill his duty. It was his responsibility to serve. He never considered the alternative. He was raised in an area where duty and honor were as much of a staple as God and country. He continued to believe in an America where commitment and hard work were its own reward. His life perhaps wouldn't account for anything but he could still imagine a better life for his children. He swore those words under the palms of a banana tree next to a bleeding Lieutenant Robert Stern while bullets flew over his head that if he ever made it out of this War alive he would find himself a good woman and settle down in a peaceful town where he would wake up every morning to a smile and fall asleep every night with a kiss. And when he touched down at San Francisco International Airport with young people protesting and spitting at him Wayne R. Sneeden Sr. didn't care. He was only happy to be home to the United States of America. He kissed the ground. He found his good woman and married her a year later where they found a peaceful piece of land. No one understood what the prettiest girl in town wanted to do with the son of a share cropper but every morning she greeted him with a smile and every night she left him with a kiss. Wayne Jr. was born within the year. It was 1975 and his life was the best it would ever be.

They had electricity and running water now but every Sunday Wayne Sr. walked the same dirt road to the local church. He still wore overalls and hand-me-down shoes but his son had new boots at the beginning of the year. His wife sewed him a new suit. He wore it to the bank the day he got a loan to buy his father's share crop. It was 1977 and Jimmy Carter was giving out loans to any peanut farmer in the South. Wayne R. Sneeden Sr. had his own land and a brand new tractor. His son sat in his lap pretending to drive down the rows of dirt. It was the same one his son took to school. He hated it. The older kids bullied him and the smaller ones laughed at him. His father chased him too many times up to the doors themselves to get him to go to school. He didn't understand why. His father seemed to do fine with only a sixth grade education. Wayne Sr. wanted more for his son. He worked hard so his son didn't have to. His hands were still calloused and worn. His face had more wrinkles from time in the sun. He had a perpetual farmer tan. But at night he would go home where his good woman would kiss him goodnight. His life was everything he imagined it to be.

He lived long enough to see his son graduate as valedictorian of his high school. He thought that was as proud as he would be of his son. When he graduated from Ranger Training School he drove the entire way to be there. He was older now and wore glasses but he had never been so proud. Five years later he had the chance to shake General Hawk's hand himself when his son was accepted into GI Joe. His son handed him the official letter. He couldn't read it but he always kept it with him. When he died three years ago in 2009 the entire town of Auburn Alabama turned out. His good woman succumbed to the new word Breast Cancer two years before. She gave him a kiss the night she died. He was never the same. The day he died the banks closed and the local restaurants opened for the funeral procession. They served collard greens and pan fried chicken where the older men shook his son's hand and their wives cried in new white handkerchiefs. Wayne R. Sneeden Sr. wasn't the most educated man but he was the most honorable and hard working man people met. He hoped he instilled those values in his son. He was buried next to a good woman on a peaceful piece of land.

Cover Girl had her eyes open before he did. She had a smile on her face. It was unusual that she was awake before him. It just proved how tired Beachhead was. The fight with God was wearing on him. It was turning into a daily occurrence. Sometimes it seemed like he was the only one fighting. Even Low Light gave up on himself. He was sliding into a point of no return taking everyone he knew with him. The man managed to alienate himself from the teammates he knew for years and an apprentice that looked up to him. Beachhead knew why and it worried him. Barrel Roll was jealous. Janack was upset. Trick Shot was disillusioned by the image he held of the famous night sniper. He yawned and put his arm around Cover Girl. Her hands were curled under the blankets. Her body was warm. No one understood what the super model saw in him. He wasn't the best looking like Duke. Nor was he the best educated like Flint. He looked over at the clock. It was six AM. They had to be on the road in a little less than two hours. He did a quick calculation. They still had time. He rolled over until Cover Girl was underneath him. If he had known it was their last time he would have taken his time.

Low Light met him in the parking lot next to the Hum Vee's. For the first time this week he was cleaned and alert. He had his knit cap on and his sniping rifle in hand. His goggles were on his forehead. He was standing next to his Road King. Barrel Roll, Janack, Ehrenstein, Lifeline, and Trick Shot waited at the trucks. No one wanted to stand next to the sniper. Beachhead and Cover Girl were the last ones to arrive. They walked hand in hand. They were late for all the right reasons. Lifeline and Ehrenstein took one while Barrel Roll and Janack sat in the other. Beachhead and Cover Girl pulled out. He let her drive. She always did. With her in the lead they would make it before General Rey. Trick Shot looked at his phone. Firewall was already there. She messaged him. It was just what General Hawk wanted.

Low Light straddled his bike until he could walk it in reverse. The motor hummed loudly in the way it wanted to take off and leave everything behind. He was at the back of the pack. He took one look at the standing RV where God and Mary were and put it in first. He followed the caravan until they left the front gate. The soldiers of Kirtland Air Force Base saluted as they passed. With any luck they would be at Fort Hood by nightfall. He didn't know what would be waiting for him when they got there. The only thing he thought of was the turns and curves of the road. It was a beautiful day. His Harley hugged the pavement like it was made for it. When he made the highway he straightened out and followed Cover Girl. She was clipping along at close to eighty miles per hour. Beachhead sat in the passenger seat. Unlike his father's time when the civilian cars and eighteen wheelers saw the camouflaged military vehicles behind them they pulled over into the left hand lane and let them pass. It was a sign of respect. A few waved their hands out of open windows. Cover Girl honked her horn.

At Fort Hood General Stern and General Hawk took a tour of the base. Flint stood close to the General's side. Lady Jaye and Firewall walked ahead with the General's wife. The aid was pointing out the history of the Fort. They nodded as if they were interested. Gloria Stern had heard the words before. For her part Lady Jaye feigned interest as if it were the most fascinating information she had ever heard. Firewall stood behind with her cell phone. General Hawk didn't reprimand her. He knew she was telling Trick Shot everything. And if she was telling Trick Shot then that meant he was telling the rest of his team. General Hawk smiled. It was only a matter of hours before his Joe's pulled in. By then General Rey would be on base. They waited. He looked at the photographs. Now that he knew where General Stern allied himself he was cautiously optimistic. It was now up to General Rey. PJ Knight was playing a game with the Jugglers to which they sent their General to take care of. They didn't know that General Hawk and General Stern still had a few moves of their own. He looked over at the Commander of Fort Hood.

General Rey flew in on an ostentatious white military private plane. It afforded him the luxury of a Juggler paid by a corporation known as Knight Armament. General Stern's men hurried to the doorway where they set up a carpeted staircase. On the tarmac General Hawk and General Stern saluted with Flint and Lady Jaye. The General passed them by on his way to shake hands. He had photographs in his hands. He handed them to General Hawk. His face was grim. He looked the manner of a man that didn't want to be there. He was eye to eye with General Hawk with a close cropped grey haircut. His uniform had the same four gold stars as General Stern and General Hawk. The only thing that set him aside was the bearing and funding of Washington DC. He shook their hands instead of saluting. He waited by the gates. The Joe's would be arriving at any time. It was eight PM. The light was fading. The American Flag flickered in the dusk to dawn lights. The military men stood around it as they waited for nightfall.

Beachhead and Cover Girl were the first to enter the gates. They were wide open. He pulled into a designated parking space a greenshirt waved him towards with neon glow sticks. He wore a green balaclava. The rest of the caravan followed. Cover Girl followed him at his side. The soldiers had the same matching green balaclava. He walked past a line of three hundred soldiers wearing three hundred matching green masks sectioned in a line to greet him. General Stern was there at the end. He looked at General Hawk with a question. He saluted.

General Stern saluted back. He held out his hand.

"It's good to meet the son of a man I owe my life to. Your father was a good man Staff Sergeant Wayne R. Sneeden Jr." General Stern said. He shook his hand. "I think you'll find a warm welcome at Fort Hood."

Beachhead nodded. General Stern turned around. It was General Hawk that handed him the photographs. He took them in an automatic way before he saw what was on the inside. He pulled the pictures out of the manila envelope one at a time. In them was Cover Girl in compromising positions he never expected anyone to see. It was private. He didn't expect it. They were the times he was with her no one should see. They were brutally honest and face to face. He looked again. Once he did he looked up at General Hawk. He didn't have words. He felt a chill run down his spine. The General didn't look back.

"Burn those." General Hawk said.

He walked away with General Stern and General Rey. They were talking about the newest budget cuts from Washington DC.

They didn't look back.

End Chapter Twenty One

Drive


	22. Chapter 22

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Twenty Two

Behind Closed Doors

1820

Just because Courtney Krieger aka Cover Girl was a former super model people assumed she came from an affluent family when the exact opposite was true. The Tank and Missile Specialist grew up in the Heartland of Peoria Illinois and was the pride and joy of George and Linda Krieger. She spent her childhood wearing tutu's and crystallized tiara's swirling in her play dresses before judges. Her patent leather shoes and ruffled socks matched her stockings and bustles. There were ballet lessons and gymnastics. There was piano and baton before she was even in grade school. By the time she was six Courtney Krieger was a pageant beauty. She hated it. She wanted nothing more than to go outside and play with her father's old Tonka trucks and get dirty. There was a photograph of her in black leotards with a hole in the knee dancing to some recital. Her mother was mortified. Her father thought it was adorable.

"Linda." He said. "If that is what the girl wants then let her."

It hung above the fireplace along with her modeling photos. He still laughed about it today.

When she was fourteen her mother took Courtney to Chicago where flamboyant designers fussed over her All-American looks. It was the time of Christy Brinkley and Cindy Crawford and there were looking for the next 'It' girl. At a time when most girls her age were just discovering boys and puberty Courtney Krieger flew to New York and Italy walking the runways of Milan and Paris. There was the anorexia and bulimia behind the stage with pills and rampant sex. She grew up fast in that environment. She was miserable. She was pretending to be an image of what people wanted her to be that she didn't feel on the inside. By the time she was eighteen Courtney sold everything from Guess jeans to Haute Couture. Her face was on Sports Illustrated wearing nothing but strategically placed hand positions. The same photographers that used to fawn over her with silk and lace now criticized her budding hips and breasts.

Her first sexual experience was with a too good looking man with his own label by the name of Jean Paul. He was a closet homosexual and modelizer that took her to bed after a late night shoot. It was equally forgettable and over before she understood it. It was a month before her eighteenth birthday. She was past her prime in the world of modeling and had a decision to make. When she went home to Peoria Illinois and told her parents she wanted to join the Army her mother cried. Her father hugged her. Even past her mother's screeches she wouldn't change her mind. Her father gave her a kiss on the forehead.

"Linda." He said. "If that is what the woman wants then I will support it."

They saw her off to boot camp where she never studied as hard in her entire life to learn everything she could about tanks and support vehicles. She was never happier. It was what she loved to do. It came as no surprise that she became the best she was in her field. In the end she wasn't chosen to be a part of GI Joe based upon looks or to uphold a requirement allowing women into a predominantly male held position. Her works spoke for themselves. She found that instead of helping her looks was a barrier to anyone seeing what she was inside. It was then she met a Drill Sergeant named Wayne R. Sneeden aka Beachhead. She hated him from the get go. She also met a brash good looking fighter pilot by the name of Brad Armbruster aka Ace. He was all cockiness and confidence. Everyone looking at them expected them to be together like peas and carrots. They were both good looking and strong at their jobs. They dated off and on for a year.

Ace was the ring leader of every betting pool inside of The Pit. If there was something to bet on the chances were Ace had his odds going against it. Courtney knew Clutch and Shipwreck by that time. While they teased and flirted they all knew she was more or less a token little sister they looked after. That was why it was so painful when Shipwreck told her about the betting pool. What started off as just a bull pen between men became more than he expected. He didn't want to see the model get hurt. Ace was taking bets on when he would get the super model in bed. For his part Shipwreck didn't want to see her get hurt. He told her the truth.

That morning at PT she thought everyone knew. She lagged behind. She didn't have the heart to face her teammates. She barely made it over the rope wall and over the log cross. Beachhead was pissed. He jogged back. His yelling was nothing new to her by now but that morning it was especially painful.

"Get your ass in gear Barbie! Do you think this is some God Damn runway? Move it!" He yelled.

Cover Girl was ass to elbows in mud and his words didn't encourage her. She grit her teeth. He was still yelling at her when she made the straight away. Her boots were full of mud and her face was speckled with dirt. She promised herself she wouldn't cry in front of the asshole. She knelt down to crawl under the two hundred yards of barbed wire. The entire time Beachhead was yelling at her.

"You won't get a pass from me on good looks Cinderella! Those bullets don't give a damn if you're a super model or the Queen of Fucking England! Get that ass down! I said crawl! In the mud soldier! I'm taking bets you won't make it past Armbruster!"

When Courtney Krieger stood up past the run of barbed wire she threw her hand back and put all of her force behind it. Her hand didn't have the chance to connect. Beachhead held onto her hand with a glare in his eye she never saw before.

"Good! Get mad!" He yelled. "I tell you what if you can hit me then MAYBE I'll give you a pass." He said.

At that time Cover Girl wanted nothing more than to punch Brad Armbruster in the face. Beachhead for his part took time out of his training to teach her hand to hand. He woke up early and stayed late. She was clumsy at first. He turned her away easily. And he yelled. The more he yelled the more Cover Girl fought. Her wrist was bent. She straightened it until her arm and her muscle became one continuous line. Her shoulder muscles stretched. Beachhead stretched them some more. He gripped her hand until she left him with a left hook. It connected with a punch. Beachhead stepped back. He smiled. He would have a bruise on his cheek as proof that she could do it. At the end of six weeks she was ready and in fighting condition. She would never be used as someone's trophy every again. Not her mother, not her father, not a creative fashion designer nor a cocky fighter pilot would ever tell her who she was.

It was when the betting pool was over Cover Girl walked up to where Clutch and Shipwreck sat around the table with Ace and Dusty. Shipwreck and Clutch didn't look up. They made excuses like they were out of beer or they were ordering pizza. They didn't have to see her face to know what she had in mind before Ace stood up. He held his hands out in a placating gesture. He knew he had it coming. No one stopped him when she punched him in the face. He fell back with a sheepish look. Cover Girl reached over and took his beer. Shipwreck handed her five hundred dollars. It was the end of the betting pool.

That was four years ago. In that time Clutch and Shipwreck still flirted but they all knew Cover Girl was still their token little sister. They protected her like a dozen big brothers. She walked up. Brad Armbruster was there. They were playing poker. They looked up at her.

Cover Girl stood with her hand on her hip.

"So. Beachhead." She said. She waited.

The men didn't bother to look up. Clutch looked over his cards and gave thumbs up. He looked at Ace. He sighed and put his cards down. He shook his head. He paused before he laid his forehead down on the table. His hand was a tentative thumb up. He missed out on so many things he couldn't put them into words. Cover Girl looked at Shipwreck. With their past the Sailor put down his cards.

"Go for it Courtney. He's a good man." Shipwreck said. "If you lose it now there's no going back."

Cover Girl kissed him on the forehead. "Thank you guys." She said.

When they made love it was like a man. Courtney never felt that way before. It was everything she expected. He was patient and kind. They waited a long time. It shouldn't have been violated.

It was unusual to have three four-star Generals greet the Joe's but that was what exactly happened. They didn't look at him. They were already walking away. General Rey was with them. They green knit of the balaclava covered the majority of Beachhead's face effectively hiding his expression. What could be seen were narrowed angry eyes that alternated between shock and barely hidden hurt. It was as if someone had punched him in the stomach and left him gasping for air. He felt two pinpoint of heat spread across his face. Whoever had taken the photographs left little to the imagination. It was more than an invasion of privacy. It was a violation. The only purpose it held was to wound and cut. Whoever the photographer was took something deeply private and intimate and distorted it into a grotesque display he normally wouldn't be ashamed of. Instead of the moment being something personal the memory was stolen from him. It would never be looked back on the same. Beachhead crumpled the envelope in his hands.

Cover Girl didn't see the look on Beachhead's face as much as she sensed it. His entire posture changed. She could tell by the way he stood that something was drastically wrong. She was waiting to the side next to the caravan of Hum Vees. They always took care not to stand too close to each other especially with three Generals on base. The rules on fraternization were pretty specific. This time she walked over. Beachhead turned his back. He didn't want her to see. He could save her from that much at least. He followed behind the Generals. He didn't have an explanation but he wanted an explanation. Beachhead the Drill Sergeant from Hell was p;issed in a way he hadn't been in years.

As if he knew Flint stopped and turned around. He and Lady Jaye exchanged looks. It didn't take much to know what she was thinking. He met him half way. Beachhead was dangerously close to causing a scene in front of three Generals. His boots hit the ground hard enough to make a sound. Flint put a hand on his chest and backed him up. They couldn't afford for Beachhead to go off on a tangent and it looked like he was nowhere near close to calming down. He took him to the side where they could speak privately. The two men argued incessantly with some almost coming to blows. A lot of them had to do with his views on fraternization. The irony wasn't lost on him. But as much as Beachhead fought with Flint he never went over his head or behind his back. Flint thought it had less to do with him than it did with Lady Jaye. He didn't want to put her through the formal inquiry a scandal would cause. Flint owed him that.

Beachhead growled. "So go ahead and say it Flint!" He said.

Flint held his hands up. "I have nothing to say." He said.

"Bullshit! You've been waiting for this time for the past five years so just go ahead and get it over with." Beachhead said.

"You are one stupid son of a bitch Beachhead." Flint shook his head. "Yeah I could call you out with me and Jaye and I could say something about you and Cover Girl. You are the meanest asshole I've ever met."

Flint stopped. "You also kept your mouth shut for five years with me and Allison. You have got to be the most stubborn man I've ever met. You're also the most honorable S.O.B. outside of the Mason Dixon Line there is. I owe you one."

He looked back at the door General Hawk, General Stern, and General Rey were waiting behind.

"If you have something to hide then get the Hell out of here. If you don't have anything to hide then get the fuck in here. Someone told me that once."

Flint smiled.

Beachhead followed.

He had nothing to hide.

End Chapter Twenty Two

Behind Closed Doors

Behind Closed Doors

By Charlie Rich

My baby makes me proud  
Lord, don't she make me proud 

And when we get behind closed doors  
Then she lets her hair hang down  
And she makes me glad that I'm a man  
Oh, no-one knows what goes on behind closed doors

'Cause when we get behind closed doors  
Then she lets her hair hang down  
And she makes me glad that I'm a man  
Oh, no-one knows what goes on behind closed doors  
Behind closed doors


	23. Chapter 23

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Twenty Three

Down in Flames

1900

Beachhead was the epitome of a true Southern Gentleman and the exact opposite of Low Light. He would go to his dying day before he would dishonor Cover Girl's name. It was as if he was taken out of a different era. He was the white Knight going to battle for a fair maiden's honor. Only Cover Girl was no damsel in distress. Among General Hawk's team of Cover Girl, Low Light, Barrel Roll, Janack, Lifeline and Ehrenstein, Beachhead was his strongest soldier. He had to know P.J. Knight was setting him up to take him off the board. He stood before General Stern and General Rey with his back straight and his chin held high. They didn't acknowledge his salute. General Stern sat with his leg on the edge of his desk while General Hawk and General Rey leaned over to gaze at a computer screen. Firewall sat anxiously in a deep seated leather chair that threatened to swallow her whole. She looked up briefly at Beachhead but averted her eyes. She had her laptop open with the monitor synced to the overhead screen. Beachhead winced. He didn't know how far General Hawk would go with the photographs. He glanced over at Flint. He seemed unconcerned. In fact now that Beachhead watched the entire room seemed unconcerned. General Rey turned around. It was the first time the Generals noticed his presence.

"At ease soldier" General Rey said.

Out of the three Generals he was the one that had to face Washington. And if General Rey had to face Washington he also had to face the Jugglers. He was another pawn in P.J. Knight's game. What was said in front of General Rey would ultimately find its way back to the Arms dealer. General Hawk had to tread carefully. His soldiers had to tread carefully. It was a more dangerous game than they thought.

"I'm glad you could be here Beachhead." General Hawk said.

Flint and Beachhead saluted.

The General saluted back as a sign of solidarity. His face was stone. Beachhead couldn't read his expression. General Hawk nodded towards Firewall. She was busy typing on her computer until the overhead screen flickered to life. Beachhead took a deep breath. It seemed that every nerve in his body was coiled and spring-loaded like a man facing a firing squad. His entire career and Cover Girl's reputation all came down to a few key strokes on a keyboard. It didn't seem fair. He braced himself. Whatever decision the Generals made he knew he would face it alone. He was the ranking soldier. He knew what he was facing the moment he began their relationship. He could have ended it any time. He would be the one to pay the cost. Cover Girl would be safe.

Firewall made a few clicks. There was a motion on the projector. Beachhead had his mouth half open to accept the consequences before he saw what was on the screen. Instead of detrimental photographs of him and Cover Girl the monitor showed a close up view of Low Light in the common area by the American Flag. It was taken at Cheyenne. Beachhead blinked. He looked over at Flint. The Warrant Officer was busy watching. It was nothing what he was expecting to see. By the look on General Rey's face it was not what he expected to see either. The Juggler barely widened his eyes but it was enough. He kept his face purposefully neutral.

It was enough for General Hawk to notice.

"This was taken at Cheyenne Mountain." He started. "It was the second round of the six rounds in the competition sponsored by Knight Armament. The event was to be a demonstration of the new KA 120 sniping rifle that is under review by Congress. This is a video of my night sniper Private First Class Cooper MacBride. The time stamp is 2345. Firewall, show them what you found." He said.

"Yes Sir." Firewall said.

As in his office Firewall zeroed in on the missing scope at Low Light's thigh. "As you can see the scope is missing-"General Hawk said.

General Rey lifted his hand. He interrupted. "All it means is that your sniper didn't have it on him at the time. He probably misplaced it. It is not a part of the KA 120." He said. "This has nothing to do with why I'm here. Washington has more important things to deal with than missing scopes. The Staff Sergeant here for example-"

"Has nothing to do with this." General Hawk said. He shared a look with Beachhead. He tapped at the screen. "I'm less concerned with my Staff Sergeants' sex life than I am with who _has_ and _IS_ spying on my Joes." He said.

Beachhead heard Flint snort. General Rey ignored it.

"And" General Rey went to open his mouth. General Hawk lifted a finger before he could say anything "_And _possibly stealing from them." He said.

It was a direct message to P.J. Knight. Hawk was basically saying he knew who it was and what he was doing with his Drill Sergeant and his night sniper. He threw down the gauntlet.

General Rey brushed it off.

"Again" He said "All that proves is that your night sniper didn't have his scope on him. The man is a known drunk with a record stretching back longer than most psychopaths. He should have been Sectioned Eight a long time ago. You yourself demoted him from E-6 to Private for that same reason." He said. "He probably dropped it on his latest binge."

General Hawk countered. "That doesn't have anything to do with this." He said. "The demotion is temporary."

"It has everything to do with it." General Rey said. "Washington has some very legitimate concerns about how you're running the G.I. Joe team. I do too. Besides the blatant drunkenness you openly allow fraternization among your ranking soldiers. And it's not the first time it has happened." His sly eyes flicked over at Flint.

"Which my Officer is married-" General Hawk said.

"Washington does not tolerate harassment at any level. If it's found that your Staff Sergeant used his rank and privilege as coercion-"He looked over at Beachhead.

"Wait! What?" Beachhead said.

"Quiet Beachhead" General Hawk said.

"_Or _he used it for favorable treatment." General Rey said.

"General Hawk!" Beachhead yelled. He took a step forward before Flint put his hand on his chest.

"I said quiet Beachhead!" General Hawk said.

"No!" He twisted himself around until he was out of Flint's grasp. He stood eye to eye and toe to toe with General Rey. It was all he could do not to poke him in the chest. "_I'm_ the one that was spied on!" He said.

"Beachhead calm down." Flint said.

He took him by the elbow out of General Rey's line of sight. The Drill Sergeant was red faced with his jaw clenched. His fists were balls of white knuckles at his side. They stood behind Firewall in an obscure corner while the Generals debated in front of them. Firewall sat with her mouth slack. Her laptop was open.

"Regardless. I read the report. Your man went AWOL not more than three months ago. Not to mention your Staff Sergeant." General Rey said.

"Or_ spying_" General Hawk said.

"These are serious allegations. I'd suspect that there would be a general inquiry. Be glad that it's not a Congressional hearing. I doubt you would want this splashed all across the nightly news." General Hawk said. "The names and rank of my Joes is classified. If you compromise my soldiers you compromise the security of the United States of America. Even Washington can't be that stupid." General Hawk said.

He didn't tolerate being threatened by General Rey, P.J. Knight, or Washington. Whatever game the Arms dealer was playing went further than what General Hawk thought. He was after more than his snipers.

General Stern raised his arm. "Wait just a damn minute" He said. "Under the provisions of the Patriot Act the G.I. Joe Team was separated by the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Their own security demanded it. You can't expect civvies justice on a Military base. Congress or no Congress the Joe's Police their own." He snorted. "Fraternization only encompasses conduct between Officers and Enlisted personnel. The D.S. and Tank Girl are both Enlisted. It's a bullshit argument not worth writing up on a waste of paper. This ain't Abu Ghraib. Any low level lawyer'd tell you the same. It'd be interesting but it ain't Congressional. Give the man a slap on the wrist with a promise not to do it again and get it over with."

General Rey glinted. He walked the distance between General Stern and General Hawk. He stopped at the door. "I only have three words" He said "Dereliction of Duty. Washington is going to be watching."

The peppy aid with the French braid stood on the other side. She smiled when General Rey walked out. The door closed behind him.

In the center of General Stern's office General Hawk took off his hat. He ran his hand through his hair. As the Commander of the G.I. Joe Team he held the most culpability. He also had the most to lose. General Stern followed his every move. Suddenly the responsibility of commanding the Joe's didn't appeal as much to him anymore. It would take a man like General Hawk to tread through the political minefield the Jugglers set before him. General Stern was not that man. He was a true Texan. His personality was more sledge hammer than sharpened Tomahawk. He watched the Warrant Officer and Drill Sergeant visibly exhale. They looked at their General for guidance. That was what General Hawk held.

Firewall closed her laptop.

"Did you get all of that Firewall?" General Hawk asked. Now that General Rey was outside he could finally tell the truth.

Firewall nodded. "Yes Sir." She said. She stood up. "I'll send a back up to Mainframe. It's time for some movie magic. Those guys need a dose of their own medicine if you pardon me saying so Sir."

General Hawk waved. He gestured to Flint and Beachhead to come over.

"It's alright Flint." He said. Flint went to grab a hold of Beachhead's elbow. He jerked his arm away. He was more than angry. He was embarrassed and humiliated. General Hawk didn't blame him.

He turned to Beachhead. "It was a necessary precaution. I couldn't trust what would be filmed. The less General Rey heard you say the better." He explained.

"You mean you knew?" Beachhead asked.

"I've known for months. It's my base. I make it my business to know." General Hawk said. He nodded at General Stern. "What General Stern said was true. I had Ehrenstein upload the laws regarding Article 134 this morning. I reviewed them myself. You're in the clear Beachhead. So is Cover Girl." He said.

He knew the little G.I. Jew would come in handy some day. Ehrenstein just proved it.

"I don't understand." Beachhead said. He shook his head. "Why would you do that? What's the point?"

General Stern grinned. "I've been waiting forty years to pay back your father Staff Sergeant. I owe him my life. I now consider us even." He said.

They shook hands.

"Thank you Sir." Beachhead said. "But that still doesn't tell me anything."

He faced General Hawk. "With all due respect Sir given the nature of things I don't ego so much as to think that would bring in three Generals and a Warrant Officer." He said. He shifted on the balls of his feet. It seemed the more he knew the less he knew. Whatever it was went beyond him and Cover Girl.

"What is really going on?" He asked.

The two Generals studied each other.

General Hawk had his suspicions about the weapons manufacturer the moment the email arrived on his computer. P.J. Knight was cunning enough to outsmart Destro himself in his race for the military contract. The small man captured and gutted an obscure M.A.R.S. rifle factory in Sierra Gordo with the help of the G.I. Joe team.* He packaged and labeled the newest sniping rifle as the KA 120. It was light weight with a superior range the Army had never seen before. Its potential was limitless in the field. Knight Armament was guaranteed a five year agreement with Congress worth billions. The competition stretching from The Pit in Utah across the United States and into Florida was less about machinery than it was about Public Relations. P.J. Knight wanted his sniping rifle to be seen. Trevor Jack and the season of American Sniper were the perfect catalyst.

His suspicions came true in the form of Pete Anderson aka God. General Hawk knew him from the time he trained Low Light. He was a legend in the sniper community. He was also as deceptive as P.J. Knight. General Hawk kept a close eye on him. His history with Low Light was explosive. He was probably the only person outside of Beachhead that truly knew his night sniper. Unlike Beachhead God manipulated Low Light into self destruction. Low Light and Trick Shot were his greatest adversaries. And also his biggest threat to the KA 120. General Hawk hated standing idly by watching Cooper plunge deeper and deeper back into his old habits. He sent Beachhead out as his eyes and ears. And just when General Hawk thought his night sniper would fall completely over the edge Beachhead was there to pull him back.

P.J. Knight wouldn't have his soul this time.

He showed Beachhead the enhanced copy of Low Light and Janack. His Drill Sergeant agreed. There was no way that Low Light even inebriated would misplace or drop his scope. General Rey was wrong. He was covering up for P.J. Knight. He was after Low Light's scope. The MB-SF #17b scope coupled with the KA 120 assured Knight Armament billions in government contracts. And P.J. Knight wouldn't have to pay one thin dime to any one for it.

General Hawk dismissed them. He had somewhere he had to be.

Low Light sat propped up in bed with a glass of water in his hand and a mouthful of pills in the other. The TV volume was set to low. He didn't feel like listening to endless chatter. Instead he watched the scenes change off and on. It was nine PM. He should be asleep or getting ready to go to sleep. Neither one would come easy tonight. His body felt like an electrical charge. It didn't matter how he positioned himself he was still uncomfortable. The television showed a young Richard Gear and Louis Gossett Jr.

"I got nowhere else to go!"

Low Light was about to turn it off when the door opened. There was a thud as the duffle bag hit the floor. He looked up in surprise standing in a salute in nothing but his boxers.

"Who did you expect? Beachhead?" General Hawk said.

End Chapter Twenty Three

Down in Flames

*See Sympathy for the Devil

The movie Low Light was watching was a nod to An Officer and a Gentleman if you imagine Low Light as a young Richard Gear and Beachhead as the Drill Sergeant Louis Gossett Jr.


	24. Chapter 24

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in twenty chapters.

The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes On Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Twenty Four

Las Nubes

2100

Cooper MacBride didn't take his medication for close to a week and it showed. His fingertips trembled while his thumbs felt dead. He tried to control it by opening and closing his hands in a fist like an arthritic. He inhaled and concentrated on his breathing the way Spirit showed him. The Native American taught him basic meditative techniques the first time he tried to stop drinking. It didn't work. His heart hammered in his throat. There was a roar in his ears with each pump of blood. When he felt like it would pass his body would send a jolt of electricity down the side of his neck along his jaw to his forearm making his muscles clench. He finally had to grip his hands together like he was praying to keep them from shaking. His whole body shivered. He felt sick.

In a way withdrawal was a lot like fear. His brain went numb to the point of immobility. Then the electrical shocks would start making his nerve endings tingle. That didn't include the way his stomach felt twisted in knots. He was sweating. He sat in his boxer shorts trying to concentrate on the movie he was watching. It didn't do any good. His head was too foggy. The Effexor and Wellbutrin he was on were used to stabilize his moods. It was a substitute for alcohol. They were also addictive. His body craved both. Without it he felt like a man who had one too many cups of caffeine. He added an Ativan and propped himself up in bed. He waited for the medicine to start working the way a drowning man waited for the next breath. It couldn't come fast enough.

When General Hawk dropped his duffle bag on the floor followed by Lifeline and Ehrenstein Cooper stood up and saluted. His hand tensed at his brow. He couldn't stop the shaking that came next. General Hawk let him settle down. He hid his hands behind his back in an at ease position. Lifeline put his medical bag on Cooper's bed and opened it. He took out a vial of B12. Cooper was on it periodically over the years once a month. It helped with the neuropathy associated with long term alcoholism. Years of drinking damaged his nerves. It caused tremors and tingling. Lifeline drew it up in a tuberculin syringe. It was a deep maroon red and looked like syrup. He turned his arm until Lifeline could give it. There was a sting but that was all. He wondered why Ehrenstein was there until he took out an ankle bracelet. It had a metal clasp that once put around his ankle had to be cut off. He wore one the time he was in jail. He was familiar with it. The Jewish law student looked uncomfortable. Cooper took it from his hand and snapped the grasp shut. Lifeline cut off the excess with bandage scissors. General Hawk dismissed them.

"Have a seat Cooper." General Hawk said. "You look like shit."

He sat across from him on the other bed.

"You can speak freely." The General said.

He was still dressed in pressed pants and combat boots. His leather bomber jacket lay across the bed behind him. His sidearm was at his thigh.

"Thank you Sir. I'm not feeling so hot." Cooper said. He took the time to put on an Army T-shirt. If it were Beachhead he wouldn't care. Now with General Hawk he felt like he was being monitored. And he was. He ran his hands through his hair and down his face until his elbows were on his knees. "I feel like someone took a hand mixer to my brain and shoved shrapnel down my guts. My liver is throbbing like a hard on."

General Hawk grunted but otherwise didn't comment on the analogy. "Beachhead told me." He said. "It was Pete."

"Yeah. Pete." Cooper grimaced. His mouth tasted like acid from the Ativan. It was bitter like a crushed pill. "I wish I could say I saw that one coming. I never expected to see him again after what happened down in Sierra Gordo." He said.

"I know about your history with Pete. Psyche Out sent me the record." The majority of the time the Joe's files were classified as 'Eyes Only'. In Cooper's case that ended on General Hawk's desk. The entire account was there.

He paused. He studied his night sniper.

"It doesn't excuse your actions as much as it explains it. You won't get a pass from me for something that happened twenty years ago. You still have a lot to prove. It's why I'm here and Beachhead's not. So far I've had to watch my Joe's run rampant like a group of out of control two year olds. I would have thought you could be sent out on your own. Instead I have my D.S. spending more time with my Tank Operator when he should have been keeping an eye on my troops." General Hawk said.

Cooper looked up. He should have known the General knew about Beachhead and Cover Girl. He snorted and shook his head. "Beachhead isn't a babysitter." He said. "It wasn't his fault."

"No but he is my fourth. If he wanted some alone time with Cover Girl then he can go on a vacation." General Hawk said.

"Beachhead never goes on vacation." Cooper said.

"In that case he is my eyes and ears on the ground. He let himself get too distracted when he should have been paying attention to what was going on. Instead I have my sniper drinking and cavorting, the other one pouting and one sending me emails about her hurt feelings. That's not to say that it's all on film for the whole world to see on a weekly basis. It's an embarrassment. I think out of the entire team Dixon and Ehrenstein have the best head on their shoulders. And they're the youngest. Thankfully Lifeline is here."

"You can't put the entire blame on Beachhead Sir. No one put a gun to my head. No one forced us to do anything." Cooper said.

"No just a drink in front of your face. I didn't send you and Beachhead out to screw around and get drunk." General Hawk said. Cooper winced. It was harsh. Even General Hawk looked as if he wished he didn't say it. "Whether you like it or not you're both an example. It doesn't matter if Dixon outranks you. He hasn't been here for the past twenty years. You have."

He kept going. "It all ends now. It's not just you Cooper. I had the same talk with Beachhead. You can expect a new roommate in the barracks once you get back. It'll teach him what it's like to be a Greenshirt again." He said. "As for Janack and Cover Girl it's time they put their big girl panties on and became soldiers. They're going to hear things they don't want to hear and they're going to have to do things they don't want to do. That's the way it is. They didn't join the G.I. Joe Team to braid each other's hair and talk about boys."

Cooper laughed. They didn't call Clayton Abernathy the Tomahawk for nothing. He cut through the crap like shit through a goose. He could only imagine Beachhead's reaction to being sent to the barracks. It would make things interesting to say the least.

General Hawk tried to diminish his next words. His night sniper deserved to be told the truth. By his looks the medication was working. His hands were steady and his face was relaxed. General Hawk exhaled. In the privacy of the bunker he told Cooper the truth. P.J. Knight used Pete Anderson's history with him to manipulate and control the outcome of the competition. When Dixon proved he was the better sniper using the MB-SF #17b scope Knight set his eyes immediately upon it. Cooper's apprentice hit a target at over two thousand yards on an eight by twelve piece of paper. Until then no one could accurately hit a target further than two thousand yards let alone Pete and Trevor Jack. General Hawk showed him the film from Cheyenne.

"Janack never touched your scope Cooper." General Hawk said. "Whoever took it had one purpose in mind."

Cooper made a face. He leaned on his knees and grasped his fingers "To steal it. I should have known." He said. "I have a good idea of who it was though. It was Pete. And here it was right in front of me the whole time. I should have believed her. I have to tell Sci Fi."

"You were distracted for your own reasons. Only in your case it was done on purpose." General Hawk said. "Knight knew your history through Pete. I wouldn't be surprised if it was planned. He couldn't have done a better job if it was on an algorithm. He's been after you since Sierra Gordo. If he couldn't get you he could get Dixon. Now that he knows about the scope he's after that too."

"Gee now who am I going to take to the Prom? I didn't realize I was that popular." Cooper snorted. "I don't know what P.J. Knight would want with an old drunk like me for. It's not like I'm the most stable guy at the dance. I can see lifting the scope. But me? I don't get it." He said. He sighed.

"Don't sell yourself short Cooper. You're still a G.I. Joe. You're the best of the best. And out of the best of the best you're the best sniper. P.J. Knight knows it. The man is nothing but competitive. He knows he only has a few more years left out of Pete. He might have been good in his day but the man's in his sixties. His eyes are fading. He couldn't hit a target at that range if he tried. That's why he's got Trevor Jack doing the shooting. Have you seen him shoot a rifle lately?"

Cooper shook his head.

"Pete Anderson was the best there _was_. You're the best there _is_." General Hawk said. "He has the gun. He has the scope. Now all he needs is the shooter."

"And that's not me." Cooper said. "It's Trick Shot. They're after Trick Shot. He's the best there _will be_."

General Hawk nodded.

"Son of a Bitch! I have to warn him!"

Cooper MacBride stood up too fast. His head started swimming. It seemed that every pill he took in the past hour decided that it was the right time to start working. He sat down too heavily on the bed. General Hawk was there to put a hand on his shoulder. He clenched his jaw. Of all the times that a sleeping pill would work now was the last time he needed. He cussed to himself. His shoulders were flaccid and his hands were weak. He had just enough energy to stand again. He reached for his pants before General Hawk led him back.

"You will do no such thing MacBride." General Hawk said. "I have Beachhead bunking with him tonight. He'll be on guard until you come out of it. Your job is to get a good night's sleep. He's going to need you to be sharp in the coming days."

"But they're after him Hawk!" Cooper protested.

"Tonight is not the night. He's surrounded at Fort Hood. Pete won't make his move until later I guarantee it. When he does I need you to be there." The General said. "You know him better than anyone else."

Cooper knew what the General was asking him. He sat down. His pants were discarded. If there was anything that Pete tried to teach him when he was his apprentice it was patience.

"Calm the fuck down. Isn't that what I always tried to tell you Mac?" He heard Pete say.

Cooper thought he was teaching Dixon the same thing. He didn't want the young sniper as his apprentice. The kid was impulsive. He didn't pay attention to his surroundings. He missed the jaguar at barely twenty yards. He was too loud. His footsteps could be heard a mile away. Cooper didn't see him lasting five years let alone twenty. He also had a weakness for whiskey and alcohol like him. He saw Dixon in the desert drinking a quarter of the bottle. As much as Cooper wanted to deny it the kid was a lot like him. He didn't know when he became protective. All he knew was that Pete would not have him. Not if he could help it.

Dixon was on a lone boulder in the middle of a junk yard. He was surrounded by discarded refrigerators and obsolete televisions. A tower of rusted cars loomed above him like the sheer cliffs of the Utah desert. Above him the crows circled and cried. He didn't pay attention. He was watching the static black and white of an old TV screen. The picture would click in remnants showing seasons of American Sniper. He was there. Only he was the star this time instead of Trevor Jack. He had the KA 120 on his shoulder and Low Light's ruby quartz goggles at his eyes. He was demonstrating the MB-SF #17B. The audience was clapping with each flick and blink at a target he took. He smiled and waved. They adored him. He signed autographs. It seemed everywhere he went people loved him. Cooper was by his side. He held the scope. When he said 'Send it' the bullets flew to where he wanted them to go. The junkyard dissolved until it was an auditorium. Thousands of people stood up and clapped. He could do no wrong. On the TV the smiling faces of God and Mary waved him forward.

"Follow me. Follow me. Follow me." They said.

He stepped up where Firewall clapped her hands and gave her a passionate kiss on the mouth. They would be together tonight. Sharon Dixon cried tears of pride at the sideline. He stepped forward until his shadow was only a figure walking in the midst of a black and white static background.

"NO!"

Cooper woke up from his dream. It was far too real. He had to moment of confusion until he saw General Hawk. He was asleep.

Las Nubas

The city surrounds him closely  
The crowd seems to pass him by  
Beneath its beloved sky  
And life treats him so unkindly  
He wishes that he would die

His life has become so empty  
It's now just a broken sigh  
The one life filled with pride and courage  
But all that has now subsided

It's now just a hollow storefront  
Adrift in an endless sky  
Adrift in an endless sky

So lost to the world is he  
A man who has been forgotten  
Alone with his misery  
Alone with his misery

He dreams of his childhood days  
Though God made his children equals  
We're different in many ways  
Give it to me, give it to me  
Give it to me now

End Chapter Twenty Four

Las Nubes


	25. Chapter 25

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light.

The Usual Disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Twenty Five

If you can't undo the Wrongs, Undo the Rights

0930

Cooper MacBride had his work cut out for him. An important part of forgiveness was the ability to make amends and that meant Janack. He heard that somewhere. He wasn't concerned with Beachhead or Trick Shot. With them it was more or less a few guttural noises and grunts and that would be the end of that. Problem solved. But when it came to Janack there was more to it. For the past two years Cooper worked side by side with the female night sniper from sunset to sunrise with the belief that Lieutenant Daina Janack was not just uninterested in men but was a lesbian. He paraded around in his underwear and shared a room with her. He showered in front of her. She dressed and undressed in front of him. Not once was he bothered by it. He never gave her a second thought. She kept their working relationship professional. He didn't think twice about it.

General Hawk told him differently.

That changed everything.

Like most Europeans Daina grew up with a different idea of sexuality than most Americans thought. To her nudity and the mingling of men and women didn't necessarily denote ideas of sex. It was not unusual for men and women to share communal baths and bathrooms up until the middle of the 20th Century. Entire families would take baths together with other families. It was just something that was done as a part of their culture. Another part of their culture was being a part of the military. Both men and women were encouraged to serve a minimum of two years for their country. Daina found out early that she belonged to it. Her colonel drove her hard. Colonel Brekhov had his own opinions about women in the military but even he recognized Daina's talent as helicopter pilot and marksman. As the only woman in the unit she was less used to unwanted attention as irritated by it. She found it hard to brush off the way Cover Girl could. The men in her unit tested her all the time with lewd comments and stripping naked. She thought of it as the communal bath in her city of Ostrava where she grew up.

The woman herself was from the Czech Republic situated between Poland and Germany. Depending on how people viewed it Daina Janack was either Eastern Block European constituting Romany and Slovakia or progressively Euro grouped with Germany, Austria, and Italy. The region was known for its vague and liquid historical borders. In the city of Prague evidence of the old and the new melded together like a picture of a city that looked forward towards the future while still honoring its past. She still missed the springs when she could walk across the Charles Bridge over the Vltava River. It literally connected Eastern and Western Europe. She left coins for the beggars.

She loved it.

By the time Daina Janack was asked to join the G.I. Joe Team her skill as night sniper was only exceeded by one other person male or female: that was Cooper MacBride. Like anyone else in the sniper community Janack heard of Low Light. She was in a better position than most in the ability to search his military record before she was assigned to work alongside him. When she did eventually meet him she found him to be just as good as the rumors said he was. His record stood on its own. She was intrigued. Cooper MacBride was soft spoken when he spoke at all. He opted to stay by himself also. Unlike Janack who had her own reasons for being alone Low Light was just plain antisocial. The man was moody in a way that always kept her on guard. She never knew night by night what mood he would be in. His insomnia and night terrors didn't help. Even on his nights off Janack could spot him wandering the base through her scope. Sometimes he would spend hours on the roof of the Pit with her. Neither one of them said a word.

Over the past two years it became a habit. They worked well together. They seemed to intuitively know what each other was thinking. There were times when Low Light was almost playful. That was when they shot a smiley face on a sheer rock a mile away. General Hawk was livid. They had to scrub the rock until it was new again. They laughed the whole time. It was worth it. Janack laughed. It was one of those rare times she saw him smile. She got to know him not through conversation but by observation. She knew the times he was awake for days on end. She knew the times he didn't take his medication. She knew the times he was hung over and the times he needed to go to Nebraska. She visited him the time he was in jail and she listened to him when he explained himself. Throughout it all she never judged him. She ignored the rumors.

When Cooper broke up with his long term girlfriend Lisa she thought she would have every opportunity for herself. He didn't show it but he was depressed. He was with Lisa for two years. Everyone thought they would get married. Their break up was a surprise. For Daina she watched him from afar for too long. Now he was not only single but he was confined to the base for the rest of the year. That gave her plenty of time she thought. She waited initially because she knew he would have to detox first. The alcohol was too strong. During the first few months he was exceptionally moody. His temper was short. He didn't sleep. He prowled around at night like a caged animal. He ripped into Firewall the first week she was in rotation until the computer specialist was in tears. Daina could tell Cooper was doing all he could to control it. She thought he would come through it to finally see her standing in front of him all along. She was wrong. At the end of a long weekend he was sent to Sierra Gordo with a young sniper named Dixon and Janack was left with a pouting Firewall that seemed to do nothing but complain.

When Low Light and Trick Shot came back from Sierra Gordo they both made it their personal mission to train the young sniper. Daina never saw someone with such raw natural talent before. She agreed with Cooper. Michael Dixon would be the best there was. His training kept her in direct contact with the night sniper. She had a first person account of how the man taught and guided Dixon. She took him under her wing. Cooper did the opposite. He didn't want him as an apprentice. He was under orders from General Hawk. Daina thought he was jealous. He always appeared to shoot by instinct. He never missed. And when he would hit a target he would sit back and smile as if waiting for Cooper's approval. She got in the habit of calling him 'Malo Stene' which meant 'Little Puppy' in Czech. Dixon thought she was calling him Milo Steve. She laughed again. She didn't have the heart to tell him the truth.

Daina Janack had her opening.

Sharon Dixon was a natural beauty. She was tall and slender. But what was the most was her innate confidence. She had a certain presence about her that some women had that made men turn their heads. Even Daina liked her. She was perfect for General Hawk. Their romance was something everyone expected. So when Cooper MacBride's head turned as well Daina Janack saw it coming. She knew right away. And the night that Cooper broke orders and curfew it was on the tip of her tongue to stop him. She should have stopped him. Instead she watched him ride away. He didn't give her a second look. By the time he came back he was relegated to Private and sent to the barracks. Once again she had to wait. She sighed. It was frustrating. She wanted to give up. General Hawk sent her along with him as his best snipers instead. He was right. Between Low Light, Trick Shot, Barrel Roll, and Janack, the G.I. Joe Team won each round. Cooper celebrated by getting drunk and screwing around with a too thin pale white makeup artist that made Daina irritated. She knew the only reason Cooper was with Mary was proximity and opportunity. Given the chance he wouldn't pass it up. Unfortunately God knew that too. She had to witness him slide slowly back into the bottle. She exhaled. She hated watching him leave yet again. It seemed that she would always be by his side but never be with him. When he came back she took him by the elbow and led him back to her room. Cooper MacBride was too drunk to see straight let alone do anything. But when he woke up on the floor in the fit of a nightmare she did the only thing she could. She slapped him. It felt good. His legs were strong beneath her thighs.

"Slap me scratch me pull my hair. I like it rough." He said to her.

She snorted. He seemed to bat his eyes in a way Daina only saw cute little baby Disney characters do in the movies. They sucked her in. She couldn't stop watching. Then Beachhead knocked on the door. They were in Cheyenne Mountain and Cooper was so close that Daina could count his tattoos. He didn't seem bothered by her. He went about his business as if she wasn't there. She frowned. Unlike the rest of her unit that she ignored she watched Low Light's every move. She should have known better. She found out why that afternoon.

Janack knew something was wrong the moment he walked up. It was unnoticeable unless you knew what to look for. She saw it immediately. So did Beachhead. If there was one thing that Low Light didn't tolerate it was someone touching his scope. A sniper could tell automatically by sight if a scope has been messed with. Daina found out firsthand how violent Low Light could be. She also found out why the night sniper never looked at her despite everything she did over the years. He thought she was gay. She was mortified. According to Low Light any woman that wasn't bought or spread their legs was automatically gay. Daina was so mad she punched him in the face.

And then she did give up.

She'd had enough.

Daina didn't know what she was going to do with Dwight when she closed the motel door in New Mexico but it didn't take them long to know her heart just wasn't in it. Barrel Roll followed her in as if it was natural. Barrel Roll wrapped his arms around Daina Janack. He didn't understand why Cooper MacBride avoided it. The man was an enigma. He held onto Daina Janack harder but it didn't help. Their kiss was awkward with neither one of them knowing where to go or who to lead or follow. They spent a few minutes with his hands on her breasts and hers to his neck. Daina stood solidly despite his best efforts when she should have been melting in his arms. He had his arms around her and his lips to hers when he broke it off. It was all wrong. Her mouth was slack and her hands were limp at his shoulders. He leaned his forehead to hers and sighed.

In the end he conceded.

"Low Light huh?" Barrel Roll said.

Daina nodded back. "I am sorry Dwight." She said.

She closed her door.

Daina Janack was packing her sniping rifle when she closed the lid and saw Cooper MacBride's boots hit the floor. She stopped for only a minute before she clicked the clasps shut and stood up. She had the case in her hand. They were getting ready to leave Fort Hood Texas for Louisiana. She added her rifle to the rest of the luggage and closed the back door of the Hum Vee. It was already hot but that wasn't why her cheeks were red. Janack was like a lot of long range snipers. She preferred to have her confrontations from a mile away. In close quarters in the light of day she felt awkward. Cooper had his jacket on and his goggles over his eyes. She could see the bruise on his jaw from where she hit him.

"Got a minute?" He said.

Daina crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the truck. They were the only ones there. It didn't seem as if anyone else was in much of a hurry to leave. Whatever he had to say was important.

"General Hawk showed me the video. I know it wasn't you that took my scope." He started.

He shifted on the balls of his feet. If Janack didn't know better she would have thought Cooper looked embarrassed. He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped. She decided to save him from further embarrassment.

"No I'm not gay Cooper." Daina said.

"Yeah ahh, sorry about that." He said.

"It is alright." Daina said. "Although you did put on one Hell of a show." She smiled and just for fun she winked at him.

Cooper grunted. He gave a half smile he was known for. It was difficult to apologize when he was an ass and drunk. But what made it worse was the fact that Barrel Roll told him she had a crush on him. He just didn't have the same feelings towards her although on closer inspection he had to admit that she was pretty good looking. She was taller than most women and he knew from experience she had a body on her that wouldn't quit. She was built like a 1940's movie siren with curves in all the right places. In another lifetime it might have worked. For now he had other things on his mind beside women.

Michael Dixon aka Trick Shot walked up to Cooper MacBride and Daina Janack. Trevor Jack was with him. He stopped in front of them. He had a smile on his face.

"Hey Tre invited me to ride with him this time." He said. "Isn't that cool?"

He patted Cooper on the shoulder and left with a wave.

Daina and Cooper looked at each other.

"Tre?" The both mouthed.

End Chapter Twenty Five

If you can't Undo the Wrongs, Undo the Rights

Merry Christmas from KSlycke


	26. Chapter 26

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light.

The Usual Disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter 26

The City of New Orleans

0800

Cooper MacBride and Daina Janack were waiting at the side of the Hum Vee when General Hawk walked up. He put them in the same transport together on purpose. They were making small talk. That was a good sign. They were neither friendly nor hostile. Their working relationship was back in order. General Hawk couldn't afford to have two of his best senior snipers at each others' throats. It was important that they worked together as a team. Their personal differences could wait. He nodded at them as he passed by. They saluted. Based on the bulk at Cooper's ankle his night sniper still had the monitoring anklet on. The General would be the one to decide when and if he could take it off. He left them with Lifeline and Ehrenstein. Lifeline handed Low Light a paper cup of pills. General Hawk didn't leave until he saw the sniper take them. His medic was under orders indefinitely to make sure Low Light kept to his regular medications. Ehrenstein pushed his glasses up on his nose. He was still getting used to the new way he viewed him.

Within twelve hours General Clayton Abernathy aka Tomahawk reigned Cooper in from a drunken fiasco. He managed to avert a highly embarrassing and humiliating situation for his Drill Sergeant and Tank Operator. He owed General Stern for that. He made a note to invite Fort Hood's Commander to the Pit in the future. He was focused on P.J. Knight with a single minded purpose few ever witnessed. He was on his way to P.J. Knight's headquarters himself if he had to. He refused to let the Arms Dealer win this round. There was only one more step to go.

His Drill Sergeant looked like a cross between a sad eyed hound dog and a barely controlled pissed off mountain lion. He was pacing the way a cat would twitching its tail followed by sudden stops where he would run his hands down his face. Beachhead wasn't known as the most patient of his Joes. In his mind actions got results. He didn't have the time for the subtlety of words. It was why he was so good at his job. It was also why he was his fourth. He trained his greenshirts to be the best. They had to think and react fast in the face of any situation no matter how dangerous. Those that passed were part of an elite unit General Hawk could be proud of. This morning he didn't look patient. The General had his hand up before he could open his mouth. Beachhead saluted. He had dark circles under his eyes. He doubted he slept last night.

"It's all getting taken care of Beachhead." General Hawk said.

He passed him by before he could say anything further. Flint, Lady Jaye, and Firewall were waiting for him. General Hawk would reach Fort Polk long before his ground troops. He ducked his head as he entered the helicopter.

"Tell me you have something for me Jaye." He said. For Beachhead's sake he hoped his Intelligence Officer had a lead. The rotors started.

"Yes Sir." Lady Jaye said. She had to raise her voice over the sound of the blades. She glanced over at Firewall. The computer specialist blushed and looked down. "I can only say that based upon the photographs Firewall and I have narrowed down the range and angle towards either a high definition 80mm objective lens taken from either a 30x wide angle and a 25x to 60x zoom. The light to light resolution and definition are probably a spotting scope, Sir."

General Hawk raised a brow. Jaye looked at her husband. He coughed. None of them were comfortable with the subject. As husband and wife they could only imagine if their intimate moments were put on film. The thought was horrifying. Whoever it was they would find out.

"What Alison means is that the photographs were taken within a spotting scope, General Hawk." Flint said.

General Hawk looked at Firewall. "And you agree Firewall?" He asked.

Firewall looked up. She swallowed.

"Yes Sir." She said. "I asked Michael errr, I mean Trick Shot, about the range and angle to be sure. I only suggested if a picture could be taken at that distance. I didn't tell him why. He said that the only way to achieve the clarity and resolution was theoretically with a spotting scope. He suggested it may have been a Leupold spotting scope." She said. "The higher end Leupold scope."

"Which Pete Anderson has a collection of." General Hawk sighed. "I need to find those scopes."

He opened his phone. There was only one person who knew what God had up his sleeve. He dialed Sci-Fi.

Things weren't much different in the Hum Vee for Low Light. He sat uncomfortably in the back seat behind Cover Girl and Beachhead pretending not to notice the silence. The only sound was the drone of the engine as it went along the highway. Not even the radio was on. Beside him Janack was looking out the window. Every once in a while Cover Girl would glance behind her and offer a smile. She knew something was wrong but not to the full extent. Beachhead kept it from her. He was in the front imagining a thousand painful deaths to the culprit responsible for the photographs; a lot of which involved castration. When Cover Girl spoke he jumped in his seat.

"How are you feeling?" She asked. She looked in the rear view mirror.

Janack lifted her head from the side window his way.

"Fine" Low Light said. It came out quiet.

It seemed like he was back to his old unsociable self.

The last thing he wanted to do was talk. It was as if he were waking up from one of his nightmares. He was vividly aware of every detailed action but unable to stop himself. Unlike a dream however his actions had consequences. In his alcohol induced haze Low Light didn't care. Now that he was sober he paid the cost. The memories were there in case he forgot. So was the monitoring anklet. So was a painful burning sensation he'd have to see Lifeline about. That was the risk he took when he was drunk. He knew he was pushing his luck. Some day it would run out. It had to stop.

It had to for Dixon.

Cooper MacBride didn't know it yet but on the back end of the tour bus his apprentice was slowly but surely being gripped in P.J. Knight's claws. So far General Hawk's white knight and rook had escaped even if they did show battle scars. His white Queen stayed true to his side unscathed. Cover Girl was shielded from it all by Beachhead while Janack demonstrated a measure of loyalty P.J. Knight's manipulations couldn't touch. Now that he failed he focused on Dixon. It was up to the four of them to protect him. The next competition would be the true test. The Arms Dealer was losing at every turn. He was becoming desperate. He set his sights on Trick Shot. Low Light's apprentice was still young and naïve. His training was only just begun. P.J. Knight used that to his advantage.

Trevor Jack was having a kale and whey smoothie with coconut water through a straw. He talked the entire time about its benefits and how much energy it gave him. To Michael Dixon it looked like chunky snot. Given the food they were sometimes forced to eat he wondered why the TV sniper chose to eat it. Michael would rather eat MRE's in the middle of nowhere. He smiled and listened. They were sitting on a full length leather sofa in the middle of his tour bus. On the outside was painted a mural of American Sniper. Behind Trevor Jack were posters of each season. He noticed Cover Girl's poster and its obvious enhancement. Anyone that knew the Tank Operator would know at first glance. He almost laughed. Trevor finished his smoothie with the loud slurping of a vacuum. An assistant took it from him. He was dressed in mechanically worn jeans and a blue polo shirt with the Knight Armament horse and knight on its breast pocket. He had his ankle crossed over his left knee. He was relaxed.

"You know you're not a bad shot." Trevor Jack said.

When he smiled he showed deep dimples in his cheeks to match the cleft in his chin. The whiskers there were longer than the rest of his face. He was made to look purposefully rugged. It looked good on film. It wasn't allowed in the standard military.

Michael Dixon didn't like the way he spoke. The celebrity wasn't much older than Trick Shot yet he talked down to him as if he were more worldly and seasoned.

"I beat your ass didn't I?" Trick Shot said.

"Touché" Trevor Jack said.

He raised his hands palm forward in surrender and laughed "Twice. Although to be honest you owe your trainer Low Light for the first shot. That is an exceptional scope he uses. It didn't go unnoticed. Given the right technology in the right hands P.J. Knight himself could teach a monkey to snipe." He said.

Trick Shot didn't miss the insult. The man's ego bordered on arrogance. In that way he wasn't unlike the majority of snipers. They were an elite community. And in the elite community the most well known snipers were God, Low Light, Vorona and Trevor Jack in that order. They were trained not to doubt. They carried over confidence the same way some men carried food and water. They were also fiercely competitive. Trick Shot found that out first hand during his training. Some could be cut throat. Trick Shot knew the only reason Trevor Jack was known was through a publicity stunt. Otherwise he was a mediocre and average Marine sniper. His skills were acceptable but far from superior. Trick shot kept his guard up.

"It looks like he has." Trick Shot said back.

Trevor laughed. "This is just the beginning kid. The final half of the competition starts in Louisiana. You're only half way there. The real test is going to be at Fort Polk's training grounds. You won't be shooting at a stationary target there. That's when they set us out team against team in a ten mile radius. Whoever comes out alive wins." He said. He cocked his finger like a gun and made a pantomime of shooting at him.

That got his attention.

"They're going to put us in the field?" Trick Shot asked.

It was his weak point. As capable as Trick Shot was with a sniping rifle his stealth and silence was nil to void. He missed the obvious. His footsteps were too heavy. He became disoriented under deep cover. He lost Low Light three feet off the trail in Sierra Gordo. He panicked then and he panicked now.

"Yeah didn't you know?" Trevor said. He looked smug. "It's me and you with God and Low Light and the two brothers first. It'll start in broad daylight. We'll see how good Low Light is when he doesn't have a shadow to hide behind. The man is good enough at night but we'll see how good he is in the light of day. I wouldn't be surprised if they don't send the dyke out in his place."

"Who Janack? She isn't gay." Trick Shot said.

"Oh is that her real name?" Trevor Jack said. "I always wondered what kind of woman used the name 'Crow'. If she's not gay she must be closed up so tight that if you tried to fuck it you'd pull back a stump."

Within the span of five minutes Trevor Jack managed to insult Low Light and Daina Janack aka Vorona all at once. Trick Shot didn't like it. He wondered what he was doing on his tour bus. It was like he was envious. Trick Shot had two of the most well known snipers on his team while Trevor Jack had the most legendary. He knew God was past his prime. This competition would be his last. Trevor Jack had a few weeks left. Trick Shot had years. God could teach Trevor Jack all he knew and the TV star would only reach the tip of the iceberg. Trick Shot was a prodigy. He had the potential to surpass God and Low Light both. He was fast making a name for himself.

"Janack" Trick Shot stopped "Vorona I mean is as much a part of the team as anyone else. I have a lot of respect for her." He said.

"I didn't say anything about disrespecting the woman." Trevor Jack said. "But let's face it there must be something wrong if your trainer hasn't tapped that. Everyone knows about Low Light's reputation. With a body like that there should be a line. Think about it."

"Low Light just respects her too much." Trick Shot mumbled. In all honesty he wondered the same thing himself. He hated to admit it but the two were perfect for each other.

"Sure. Respect." Trevor Jack said.

For the rest of the drive to Fort Polk they didn't mention the competition or Low Light. Trevor Jack changed the subject to the bars and girls of Bourbon Street. From Canal Street to Jackson Square and the Café du Mond where he swore they served the best coffee and beignets in the world. The losing team had to buy.

Trick Shot laughed. "Then you better get out your company credit card because I can pack it away." He said.

"If you're anything like Low Light you'll have me bankrupt before we make it out of the French Quarter." Trevor Jack said. "Just remember I like my bourbon neat and my coffee with steamed milk."

The bus slowed and stopped. He looked outside.

"Prepare to meet all of your adoring fans." Trevor Jack said. "We're here."

End Chapter Twenty Six

The City of New Orleans

Happy New Year from KSLycke


	27. Chapter 27

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light.

The Usual Disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Twenty Seven

Hadacol Boogie

2130

The drive from Fort Polk to New Orleans would take four hours. The Joes pulled in front of the statue of Andrew Jackson. The entrance itself was situated by a semi circle around the statue with the red brick administrative offices behind it. They were guided towards the motor pool by a Private where they parked and stretched their legs. For Low Light and Vorona that meant collecting their sniping rifles and scopes first. By the time Beachhead and Cover Girl were finished shaking off the obvious driving lag they both had their rifles and cases ready. Trevor Jack and Trick Shot were nowhere to be found. Neither were God and Mary. Low Light creased his brow. The last he saw his apprentice was when Trick Shot was headed towards the TV star's tour bus. He didn't know where God and Mary were. Wherever they were he knew they were up to no good. The thought that Trick Shot, Trevor Jack, God and Mary were both missing was not sitting well with him. It added to his DT's. He dropped his case.

Beachhead looked over at the thump. Cover Girl and Vorona stayed behind. Beachhead walked over. He was three feet away. Low Light had his head to the cool of the back door.

"You alright" He asked.

Low Light looked over from the door. "Yeah it's just you know a thing Beach." He said.

His stomach was yawning like a ball of bile in the back of his throat. His head flushed in the humidity of Louisiana breaking sweat along his forehead. His hair curled at his neckline. His hands shook until he gripped them into fists. He had to sit down before he hyperventilated. The medication he was on was supposed to help. None of it was a proper substitute. The truth was it only eased the withdrawal. Unlike other drugs such as nicotine, heroin, meth, cocaine, or even prescription drugs, alcohol withdrawal was the only one that could kill him. After three days nicotine was excreted in the urine and lungs. Heroin could be controlled by medication. Cocaine detoxification could take weeks. Although the abstinence was painful none of it could kill. Alcohol could. The brain and body demanded it to the point of seizure activity. His skin crawled like a thousand spiders. He eased down the back of the Hum Vee until he could sit with his knees up. A Private came over to check. Beachhead waved him away.

"He had the crawfish" He said.

The Private left them. To the side Cover Girl and Vorona were watching until a liaison met them and showed them to their room. They would bunk together tonight. So would Beachhead and Low Light. They left with a backward look carrying their overnight bags. Beachhead took the opportunity to sit down beside him. Low Light was in bad shape. His stomach clenched giving nothing but gobs of mucous he spat out. He breathed in making puffs of his cheeks each time a wave overcame him. He rest his head on his knees.

"It's bad this time huh" Beachhead said.

Low Light nodded. Twenty five years of hard drinking couldn't replace the feeling.

"Do you want me to get Lifeline?" Beachhead asked.

He nodded again. His stomach twisted with the movement. He turned his head and spat again.

Normally Low Light would bypass using the medic. Most of the Joes did. It was seen as a weakness. To accept the thought of needing medical management meant to accept more than will power. The medic was used to it. The Joes would rather have their teeth drilled without anesthesia than to see him. The same went for Doc and Psyche Out. It was something that wasn't done. For Low Light to admit needing help meant it was too much for him to handle. Beachhead opened his phone. It took a while to find the medics number. He was one of the Joes that didn't see Lifeline on a regular basis. The medic picked up on the first ring. He sounded surprised.

"Beachhead what's wrong?" He said.

"It's not me Lifeline. It's Low Light. I need you over here." Beachhead said.

From the side Low Light looked over. "Don't let him put me under Beach." He said. There was no telling what he would and could do when he was in a drug induced sleep.

"Don't worry I won't." Beachhead said. "Can you walk?"

"Think so" Low Light said. His stomach lurched when he stood up. His entire body was on fire.

The same Private showed them to their room. Beachhead had his arm around Low Light leading him to the bed. He fell back rubbing his upper arms with his hands. He wanted nothing more than to scratch the spiders out. It dug into his skin. He found no way to sit or lay comfortably. He alternated between sitting up and lying down until there was a knock on the door. Beachhead answered. Lifeline had his medical bag with him.

"Oh wow this is a bad one." Lifeline said.

He was there the first time eight months ago when Low Light tried to stop drinking. It almost worked that time. He took one look at him and opened his bag.

"I doubt you can keep a pill down." Lifeline said. Low Light agreed. Every time his head moved he heaved into a trash can. "So what do you want to do? I can give you it IM or IV." He said. "We did IV last time. How much do you weigh?"

"I don't know. I think about two hundred and twenty." He said.

Lifeline had a tourniquet around his arm before he could finish. There was pain and then a flash of blood in his right arm when the IV was started. He flushed that with a saline solution.

"Don't let them put me under Beach." Low Light said.

The Ativan was already given by the time he said it. His hands were still. His face relaxed. His eyes glazed. He lay back on the bed. Lifeline and Beachhead exchanged words by the time he pulled the IV and left but that wasn't before General Hawk was at the doorway. In his company any medical emergency was passed through General Hawk. He was on his way before Beachhead hung up the phone. Lifeline passed by without a word. General Hawk stood in the room with Beachhead and Low Light. His DS was still dressed in his fatigues and mask next to the night sniper in nothing but his underwear. He still remembered General Rey's words.

"Dereliction of duty" The General said.

Low Light was showing it.

He turned to Beachhead. "Stay with him" He said.

He turned around and headed back to his room. The next competition would take place in a little under twelve hours. He was hoping his night sniper was up to it. But just in case he called in his next best.

Janack aka Vorona was at his door in less than ten minutes. She was dressed in military fatigues and plain white T-shirt. She had her hair braided. She saluted in the doorway.

"At ease Janack" General Hawk said.

The female night sniper relaxed her legs and put her hands behind her back.

The decision was hard. General Hawk knew about Low Light's history. He was the best of the best. The GI Joe team chose him as the one percent of the one percent. The night sniper never missed a target. His record was at one hundred percent. For the past twenty years Low Light was sent on each mission no matter the decision. Some involved black bag operations. When he was decommissioned Low Light invented his own scope that still held a patent. When the GI Joe team was reinstated Low Light was the first one to sign up. He was a lifer and he knew it. He was also a liability. His actions in the past week proved it. General Hawk had a choice to make. He looked at Vorona from his desk. To the side his bed was unmade.

"Your code name is Vorona isn't it?" He asked.

Janack aka Vorona answered. "Yes Sir General Hawk. It is the name I was given with the Oktober Guard." She said.

"Then keep it. From now on you will be known as Vorona." General Hawk said. "You will be Michael Dixon aka Trick Shot trainer. I know you are more than capable. I also know that you know as much as Low Light. I am now promoting you to head sniper. Congratulations Vorona."

Daina Janack stood stiff. As a sniper she was second only to Low Light. She knew that. She couldn't imagine what happened for her to be promoted over Low Light. The man was legendary. If there was a target to be made then Low Light would be the one sent out. She tried to keep the shock from her face. It failed. As far as she knew it would always be Low Light and then Vorona. They were the unstoppable team. Now she had Trick Shot to take under.

"Excuse me Sir?" She said.

"You heard me Vorona." General Hawk said. "You are now promoted to head sniper. You are dismissed. The next competition is as 0800 hours. I suggest you get some sleep."

Vorona stood straighter. She saluted before she turned around. Down the hall she shared a room with Cover Girl. It was 11 PM. The Tank Operator was on her phone. She looked miserable. When Vorona walked in she rolled her eyes.

"Go ahead." She said. "I know you're talking to Beachhead."

She stripped off her T-shirt and BDU's and headed towards the shower. Her sudden promotion left a bitter taste in her mouth. It was at the expense of Low Light. She couldn't deny her feelings for him. She spent a long time under the spray of hot water thinking about it. She was no head sniper that much she knew. It was midnight by the time she was finished. In the room Cover Girl was still text messaging Beachhead. She dried her hair and sat down.

"Tell them I said 'Hi'." She said. She rubbed her hair with a towel.

Cover Girl lay back on the bed watching the screen of the phone.

"They say congratulations on your promotion." She said.

"Well that got out fast." Vorona said.

She sat on the edge of the bed. Cover Girl rolled over holding the phone up to her face. She still didn't know why Beachhead was avoiding her. She would rather spend the night wrapped in his arms than with Vorona. She suspected it was because General Hawk was there. She didn't know the truth. As far as Beachhead told her he was busy with Low Light. She set her alarm for six AM.

On the other side of the barracks Beachhead hung up his phone. Low Light was passed out from the Ativan and so far showing no signs of night terrors. He spread his arms out with a slack jaw on top of the blankets. Beachhead checked his eyes before he went for a walk. He didn't show any movement. Outside he scratched his eyebrow. The photographs were still foremost in his mind. He tried for two days to keep it from Cover Girl. The pressure was getting to him. He rubbed his eyes. Trevor Jack and Trick Shot pulled in. He looked up. The kid was three sheets to the wind. It was past midnight. Trick Shot laughed as he stepped out of the tour bus.

"Oh man Beach you should have been there!" He said. His breath smelled of whiskey and sugar. It was a four hour drive from New Orleans to Fort Polk. "The girls man!"

"At least he _thinks_ they were girls!" Trevor Jack said. "New Orleans you know?"

It came out as N'awlins yanno.

"Is that where you were Private Dixon?" Beachhead yelled. He was in no mood to listen to excuses tonight.

He was relegated to a Greenshirt once he went back to the Pit. He was going on two days without sleep. He missed holding his girlfriend Cover Girl when he slept. It showed in the dark circles under his eyes. He was short tempered. He got into Trick Shot's face.

"You will report to Agent Janack also known as Vorona at 0800 hours do you understand?" He yelled.

"Janack? I mean Vorona?" Trick Shot said.

If anything could sober up a recruit it was Beachhead yelling.

"Yes. She is now your superior officer. She is senior sniper and you will follow her commands." Beachhead said.

"But what happened to Low Light?" Trick Shot said.

"Dereliction of duty" is all Beachhead had to say.

End Chapter Twenty Seven

Hadacol Boogie by Hank Williams


	28. Chapter 28

For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light.

The Usual Disclaimer: don't own not making a profit

The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen

Chapter Twenty Eight

Country Boy

0600

Depending on who was asked New Orleans was either known as The Big Easy or The Big Sleazy. Up until and including the floods of 1927 and Hurricane Katrina the city had an innate culture and flavor that refused to die. It was equally quaint, corrupt, and metropolitan. Through the years various mayors vowed to clean up the city and the police force. It was an empty promise. Everyone knew it was a losing battle. Most liked the way their city was run by Mafia and gang members. They were the ones that kept the real peace. As long as no one strayed outside of those lines New Orleans ran like a well oiled and well financed machine. The tourists didn't need to know what happened behind closed doors as long as the party never ended. There was jazz every night at Preservation Hall and cold drinks at Pat Obrien's. It was the home of Louis Armstrong, Wingy Manone and Baby Dodds and Nappy Lamare. Everyone was guaranteed a good time. That included Michael Dixon and Trevor Jack.

They were stopped at the House of Blues on Canal Street while Trevor Jack shook hands and signed autographs. He posed with fan girls flashing a smile into cell phone cameras. He took the drinks men offered and walked the room. The blues was shitty and the jazz nonexistent but the real fun would come later outside of the French Quarter where they sat under a heated lamp in a courtyard smelling of jasmine and old wrought iron. The brick cobblestone was original. There they could have a measure of privacy. Trevor Jack was far away from Hollywood and fame. The production crew for the Military History Channel was steadily making their way down the Bourbon Street Crawl: going from bar to bar until the sun came up.

It was Trevor Jack's hometown. His name back then was Jon Du Pont. Far from being the television version he was today the younger Trevor Jack spent most of his time in the swamps and bayou of Lake Pontchartrain. It was where he learned to shoot. His father was an offshore driller in the Gulf of Mexico and his mother was a kindergarten teacher from up north at Bayou Teche. He learned to steer an airboat before he learned to drive. He was at home in the mud and reeds of the swamp. And while his mother espoused the conservation of the wetlands his father would say "We ain't got no wetlands around here. All we got is swamps!" Then he would laugh a big hearty laugh and grab her by the ass. It was a blissful childhood until his father rode a column of fire two hundred feet in the air when a drill broke through a natural gas pocket sending flames that could be seen as a flicker fifty miles out on the Gulf. It still burned. He was fourteen and it was hard. His uncles tried to fill the void by taking him on long hunting trips in the woods for alligator and nutria. Jon Du Pont didn't want to have anything to do with his city then. He spent the next two years in ROTC begging his mother to join the Marines.

Paris Island became his second home and Jon Du Pont didn't look back. He found out that he was a pretty good shot as far as snipers went. He knew he wasn't the best but he wasn't the worse either. His commanders had other ideas. He had a rugged look with black hair of creole and hazel eyes. He was tall enough to pass for a Choctaw. Like any native he was a mix of French, Indian, White, Black and a hodgepodge of Irish and Russian. He was fit and young. They chose him to represent the Marines on a new show called American Sniper. That was six years ago and Trevor Jack didn't know what happened to Jon Du Pont.

He looked over at Michael Dixon. The young sniper had a naiveté and openness about him that made Trevor Jack pang for. He wasn't that much younger than him but in the course of the past six years it might as well be generations. Included was his natural ability. Trevor Jack was jealous of Michael Dixon. His training was just that. He knew how to target and how to pull a trigger but he would never have the natural talent Trick Shot showed. That was why he depended on God. He hated it. He toasted him an expensive bourbon.

"Welcome to the Big Easy." Trevor Jack said. "This is where I grew up. Are you ready for it?"

Michael Dixon was already feeling no pain from the drinks at the House of Blues. He raised his own drink.

"Bring it on pretty boy." Trick Shot said. He would have to face Trevor Jack on his own ground this time.

They both laughed before they took the shot. Michael wiped his chin with his fist. It was the first time since Low Light in Cheyenne that he had something to drink. He felt it flow down his throat settling into his stomach. It wasn't the cheap stuff. He felt his eyes half lid. He sat back. The heat of the lamp and the smell of the jasmine were filling his senses as much as the bourbon.

Trevor Jack leaned forward. "You know I never did understand why you were stuck with that old drunk Low Light. You could go far Mike. Is it alright if I call you Mike?" He said.

Trick Shot snorted. "Not even my mom calls me Mike. It's always been Michael." He said.

"Alright Michael it is then." Trevor Jack said. "The thing is you have a natural ability no one's seen in twenty years. Oh I know. I hear Pete talk. I know I'm no Low Light. He never fails to remind me of that. But look at me. I have a TV show. I sign autographs. What does God have but some old reputation no one will remember? And the pussy man!" He laughed. "The chicks line up around the corner just to get to this. You ever wonder what it'd be like?"

Trick Shot laughed. He shook his head. "Well yeah I thought about it. I'm twenty three for Christ's sake." He said. He hung his head. The waiter brought another round. "But I have a girlfriend."

"Sure that's the computer tech." Trevor Jack said. "But how far is that going to take you? I'd be surprised if you have that a year or five years from now."

Trick Shot lifted his head to counter. Trevor Jack held up his hand.

"Maybe but maybe not you know. I'm just saying that you have to get while the getting's good."

Trevor Jack aka Jon Du Pont looked up to the sound of boots on cobblestone. Michael Dixon looked over. In the shadows was a tall man in a black turtle neck sweater and Levi's. He had rough boots that scraped the ground. That was the sound. Trick Shot was on guard at once. The man reeked of military. He kept himself in the shadows. As far as Trick Shot could tell he was taller than him and Trevor Jack but held him in a different way. Trick Shot played with his drink before he swallowed. The one thing about the higher end cabaret situated off of Bourbon Street was the exceptional service and privacy. A waiter that he barely noticed poured him another. He waved and walked over. Trevor Jack stood up. His face was a mix of happiness and bittersweet. Michael Dixon dropped his jaw when the two men kissed.

It was the kiss of long term. Michael always thought of himself as a progressive person being careful not to pass judgment. His mother taught him. As the bastard son of a married Captain he knew too well how much judgment would cause. He tried to hide his surprise. The man held onto Trevor Jack's waist before they turned around.

"This is my partner Roy." Trevor Jack said.

Roy held out his hand for a handshake. His grip was strong. If Michael had the chance to think about it he would never guess the man was gay. He looked just like any other guy in the military. He sat down.

"Surprised?" Trevor Jack said.

"I wasn't expecting you know…" Michael said.

Roy laughed. "You gotta love that don't ask don't tell policy of Clinton's. I'll have a beer. I know you like your bourbon Jon. It's a pleasure to meet you Michael. I've heard a lot of good things about you." He said.

"So you're military?" Trick Shot asked.

Roy nodded. He took the frosty bottle from the waiter and put a twenty down. Trevor argued it and put his Knight Armament credit card over the bill. The company afforded him enough to pay for the bill plus some. Trevor Jack had enough to buy a nice apartment on the French Quarter for him and Roy and perhaps open a shooting range. That was his dream though. He was ready to quit it. Michael Dixon was his way out.

"A lifer I'm afraid." He said. He drank. "Tre says you're a natural."

"I don't know about that. I mean I'm learning a lot." Trick Shot said. He looked embarrassed. "Low Light is a good teacher."

"It looks like we'll find out tomorrow." Trevor Jack said. "Just remember that this is my stomping grounds. You better bring it or don't bring it at all."

Trick Shot left them to join the production crew on Bourbon Street.

It was one AM by the time they made it to Fort Polk. Michael was hoping that everyone was asleep. He was wrong. The first person that met him was Beachhead. He groaned inwardly. Beachhead was the last person he wanted to see. By the looks of him he was extraordinarily cranky. Beachhead wasn't in a good mood any day of the week. Now he was in Trick Shot's face like a dog smelling blood. He was drunk on too many whiskey sours and hurricane punch. Trevor Jack was behind him. He stood as straight as he could until Beachhead told him the truth. Low Light was in regard to Dereliction of his duty. He felt a pit form in his stomach.

For the rest of the night Trick Shot listened to Barrel Roll snore and thought about it. His head was swimming from alcohol at four AM. At five AM he was in a fitful sleep. At six AM the alarm woke him with a blare. He barely slept. His neck was stiff and he smelled of body odor. He wanted to take a shower but Barrel Roll beat him to it. He lay in bed thinking about what he would do. Fort Polk was Trevor Jack's home territory. He would be ten miles out in the bush without Low Light. He had to depend on Vorona this time. The shower he took was luke warm. He cussed Stall the entire time. By the time he finished he grabbed his case and met Vorona outside on the proving grounds. Trevor Jack was there. He was grinning. Low Light was dressed in civilian clothes and a new pair of mirrored aviators. He stood to the side without his sniping rifle. His anklet showed on low risers. Beachhead and General Hawk were there. They didn't speak.

Trick Shot took a deep breath and let the assistants prepare him for the camera. His face felt waxed on. Daina Janack now known as Vorona had the other end. They made her up with wide blue eyes and cascading blond curls and tweezed eyebrows. Trick Shot wouldn't recognize her. He noticed Low Light looking her way with something more in his eyes. She led them out to the starting line. Barrel Roll, Black Out, God, and Trevor Jack met them where they were separated into teams. Since Barrel Roll and Black Out were in last place they got to go first. The rules were simple: ten miles. eight hours. Whoever came out alive won the round.

Vorona led him towards a wood that looked bare with fallen leaves and needles. Her small feet were silent on the path. She appeared to take in everything around her. She melded behind trees and around brush until the first clearing where she knelt. Trick Shot felt like a first year boy scout next to her. He heard his footsteps and watched as he broke twigs and crunched on leaves. It was the first time he was out on the trail in the light of day. Low Light taught him under cover of the night. He felt exposed and naked. At any time he expected to feel the thick hit of paint on his back. He was jumpy. Vorona took out a candy bar and broke it in half. She didn't look concerned. She sat still behind the brush and waited. The clearing would be the first test to their abilities. Vorona chewed quietly on the candy bar. Trick Shot waited. The minutes seemed to pass by with each trickle of sweat. Louisiana could be Hell on four wheels when the sun was ripe and high but in the shadows the temperature could drop by twenty degrees. The insects buzzed around Trick Shots ears.

The sign came with a whisper across fifty yards of grass. Vorona dropped to her belly. That was her cue. In her sites Vorona saw Black Out peering from the brown and mud of covered leaves. He was good. He wouldn't be seen if it were anyone else. His body was covered in needles and his face masked by the thick frond of a palmetto. He was watching the clearing as well. Vorona pointed to her eyes and made a five sign. Trick Shot lined up his scope. At this angle he could count the pimples on the man's face. He took a deep breath. When Vorona pointed her fingers forward as the signal to shoot he heard the pop and saw the splatter of paint across the Cobra sniper's right shoulder.

That was when they heard the pop and thud of grass behind them. The debris flew up where a miss hit shot just two yards away.

They were up and running by the time the second pop sound.

End Chapter Twenty Eight

Country Boy


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